


Do Unto Others...

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Canon, Drama, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Points of View, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-16
Updated: 2006-05-12
Packaged: 2018-12-27 05:14:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 49,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12074211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: Brian and Justin struggle with how to put the pieces of their life back together, when one of them is barely hanging on.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

Thank you to my awesome beta. You are the best.

* * *

Ronnie Jr. …  
 _  
Eight years old…_

_I pretend to be sleep. If I am asleep maybe he will leave me alone. I hold my knees to my chest and wait. I can hear his heavy footsteps as they get closer and closer to my door. He passes my bedroom and I let out the small amount of air that I had trapped inside my lungs. “Thank you,” I whisper into the darkness that surrounds me. I listen as the footsteps fall away, down the hallway and into his bedroom.  
_  
I thrust deeper into the warm body beneath me, ignoring the blood and the tears. I can’t let myself feel his pain. I only have room in my body for my own. “Please,” I hear him beg, his voice struggling to remain clear as the blood invades his throat. I look down at his face. The blue eyes, the blond hair; he reminds me of my father.  
 _  
Ten years old…_

_I don’t hear the door open or his footsteps as they walk across the padded carpet, but I feel the cold air kiss my skin as the blankets are pulled back and I smell the alcohol as it rolls off of him. I keep my eyes closed. If they are closed… then nothings real.  
_  
I bite his shoulder as I come a third time, tasting the blood as it stings my tongue. I lick the area, tasting his pain. His body is shaking under me. His arms are tied behind his back, pressing into the hardwood floor of the studio. There is so much blood. 

Red paint runs off of the easel next to us, dripping onto the floor and splattering over his face and chest. I take a finger and run it through the mixture of semen, paint and blood on his chest. I rub the mixture between my fingers, it’s so warm. 

His cell phone is ringing; that’s the fourth time since I got here.   
__  
Four Hours Ago…

_“You’re Justin Taylor,” I say as I come around the corner. He jumps back a little, startled. He wonders where I came from. I was hiding in the shadows, watching the golden strands of hair as they swayed slightly with each movement._

_He adjusts his portfolio as it hangs around his neck._

_“Yeah,” he answers. I step forward with my hand extended and a smile firmly in place. He takes my hand and shakes it. He has a firm grip. I notice it immediately._

_I have watched him since he leased the loft. I watched as he slowly filled it with canvases and art supplies, turning it into a studio._

_My father loved to draw. He was very good at it._

_“I saw some of your work at the student shows when you went to PIFA,” I tell him. He smiles, letting go of some of his apprehension. “You were very good then, I can only imagine you’ve gotten better.” I lay it on thick as I feel my dick start to grow._

_“Thanks,” he says as he puts the key in the lock, opening the door._

_“I would sure love to see some of your pieces,” I say with all sincerity. He is a damn good artist. I have never fucked an artist. He’ll be my first._

_I have had one teacher, three cashiers, five housewives, a DJ, three teenage girls and numerous tricks… but never an artist. He is one more notch to add to my belt, one more trophy for my collection, a collection that started when I was eighteen; a seventeen year crime spree._

_He motions to the inside of the studio. “Would you like to see some paintings?” He asks. “I mean, you’re already here.” I laugh on the inside at his trust and acceptance._

_He should know better. He does know better._

_“Sure,” I say. He nods his head with a smile and moves into the vast space, turning on all the lights.  
_  
I look at the cell phone, lying in a pool of blood and ringing with intensity. The smell of sex, paint, and warm blood assaults my senses and sends blood rushing to my cock, doubling my pleasure and increasing his pain. 

I thrust into him again. There are no more words coming from the body beneath me. No movements, no signs of struggle.

I pound away mercilessly, the most severe of the damage already done. He put up a fight. He lost, but he tried. I respect that. 

I bend over as I thrust into him and lick a trail from his collarbone to his cheek. There is blood pouring from his mouth. I let his head drop to the side and watch as the blood spills from his mouth to the floor. 

I let my eyes focus on the two teeth that lay lost and forgotten on the floor under the easel. There is a third one missing. I don’t see it. I think it’s on the drafting table.   
__  
I saw his name on a flyer at the school, two years ago.

_Justin, I love his name. It makes me think of the Justin that I used to know in second grade, but that was a long time ago. I punch him, hard, in the face. I watch his expression change from one of surprise to one of terror._

_He backs away from me, stopping when his back comes in contact with his easel._

_I hit him again. With every punch I feel some relief, some ease within myself. I can breathe. He doesn’t know what to do, his head is spinning. “FUCK!” He screams. He pleads with me to stop, to leave. I have no patience for begging._

_I am tired now. My dick is hard. No more time for charades. I need to feel._

_I lunge forward and he falls backwards in his haste to get away. His head makes contact with the floor, a sickening thud resounding around the room. He moans and coughs, splattering blood into the air like a smoke cloud. I walk over to him and deliver a swift kick to his face, watching in awe as his head jerks back. “Daddy didn’t like beggars,” I say._

_Two pearly white teeth leave his mouth as he turns his head to the side, emptying the contents of his stomach onto the floor. “Maybe now you’ll learn your lesson,” I tell him. Daddy didn’t like it when you didn’t learn your lesson._  
 **  
Seven years old…  
**  
“I told you not to leave your bike in the driveway, didn’t I?” I don’t answer daddy. I am too afraid. Daddy is mean. He always yells. Daddy doesn’t like me. “Answer me, you stupid piece of shit,” he screams at me, yanking my arm and shaking my small body. 

_“Yes,” I say softly. Daddy lets go of my arm. I see mommy in the kitchen, covering her mouth with the dishtowel, holding in the sobs and the tears. I don’t want mommy to cry._

_The black eye that she got two days ago is still swollen shut. It hurts mommy to cry. ‘Don’t cry mommy, please don’t cry’ I say without words._

_“Yes WHAT?” Daddy screams._

_I swallow hard, my heart pounding in my chest. “Yes, sir,” I say._

_“Then WHY is it OUT THERE?” He shouts, hitting me in the side of the head with every word. I feel the tears start to form behind my eyes and I try to choke them back. “Do I need to tell you again?” He asks._

_I shake my head ‘no.’ He doesn’t have to tell me again. I already know I am not supposed to do that. “OPEN YOUR MOUTH. WHAT ARE YOU SOME KINDA FAIRY BOY? ANSWER ME WHEN I ASK YOU A QUESTION.”_

_I see my mother move from the sink, the front of her pregnant belly soaked from the dishwater. “Ronnie, please,” she says as she reaches the edge of the carpet that signals the start of the living room._

_My daddy turns to her. He is dressed in his uniform. Blue pants, pinstriped shirt and a name tag. Maintenance men don’t need fancy clothes; they were all bought at the local thrift store. “WHAT?” He shouts, walking over to her._

_She takes a step back, instinctively covering her belly. “He, he had to use the bathr….”_

_His fist makes contact with her face and she flies back, hitting her back against the kitchen table. I watch the scene in front of me as tears make their way down my face. “Did I fucking ask you for an explanation? Did I?” She shakes her head, bracing herself for another punch._

_He lifts his hand to hit her again when the blare of a car horn stops us all in our tracks. “Come on man, we gonna be late,” we hear screamed from outside. Daddy puts his fist down and spits the toothpick that was in his mouth at mommy._

_Daddy always has a toothpick. A nervous habit he picked up after he quit smoking._

_He grabs his hat and his jacket. He moves to the front door, stopping to look over at mommy and me. “Clean up this fucking mess,” he says pointing to the blood on the kitchen floor. Mommy says nothing, she just nods slowly. He turns to me and my heart beats wildly in my chest. “That bike better be moved when I get back,” he tells me._  
 **  
He slams the front door closed, leaving us alone with too many tears.  
**  
Justin moans and I snap back from the past. 

_I walk away from him, taking the time to look around the studio and admire his paintings. “You know, you are really good,” I tell him. He groans as his body squirms on the floor. I see him out of the corner of my eye. I watch as he tries to stand up straight._

_Blood is pooling from the newly emptied spaces in his mouth and his lip. “Where are you going?” I ask him as he tries to get his bearings._

_He moves toward the door but I grab the back of his shirt. “Stop,” he whimpers instinctively. He lunges forward with all his might, trying to escape my grasp. I pull my head back and hit him as hard as he can, head butting him in the face._

_I watch the third tooth as it leaves his mouth and comes to rest on the drafting table, the root still attached to it.  
_  
The ringing of the phone stops just as I come again. I let my body collapse on top of him, breathing in his scent as I run a hand over his chest, down his torso and over his cock. 

I let myself grow soft and fall out of Justin. 

I watch the young blond, intrigued that he can look so peaceful. I reach into my pocket and pull out the knife that I have there. I kiss his cheek, inhaling sharply as I lick his blood and my semen off of my lips.  
 __  
Seven years old…

_“Oh yeah… you like that, huh? Yeah bitch, take it… all over your fucking face.” I close my eyes and cover my ears as I lay in the bed. I can hear my babysitter moaning in ecstasy, she is fifteen._

_Mommy’s not here, she had a baby yesterday.  
_   
I raise the knife above me and as I see his chest rise and fall I plunge the knife into his chest, one… two… three times. There is no response from him and I smile. 

There is never any response. 

I’ll admit that the DJ was strong. She fought back, she struggled. She survived the knife wounds, gasping for air, breathing and living… until I was forced to stab her again and again. That one got messy. 

I lean over Justin, pressing my lips to his one last time before getting off of him. I pull the knife from his chest and roll him over, cutting his arms free. “You were very talented,” I say as my lips brush over his forehead, blond hair sticking to the blood on my lips. He tastes like silk. I wipe my knife off on the inside of his thigh before putting it back in my pocket.

I leave out of the loft, closing the door behind me. 

**

Brian…

“Where in the fuck are you?” I ask out loud. He was supposed to be here hours ago. I look over at the loft door. Something is wrong, I know it. I take a deep pull from my cigarette, trying to push down my nervous feeling.

“Fuck,” I say, moving across the room, grabbing my cell phone and wallet. I pick up my keys and leave the loft, setting the alarm and locking the door. I walk down the stairs, not bothering to wait for the lift. 

I look up and down the street as I head to the corvette. Justin is nowhere in sight. He probably got caught up in some drawing or painting. I know how passionate he gets, working intensely for as long as he has the feeling, and as long as his hand holds out. 

I dial his cell phone again. “Come on Justin, you’re supposed to leave the phone _on_ ,” I say. I reach his neighborhood, flinching at the surroundings.   
__  
Several Months Ago…

_“Justin, this neighborhood does not look safe,” I tell him. He smiles and laughs._

_“Oh, is that a show of concern for my safety?” He teases. I will never tell him that I am concerned. I bite my lip and look over at him, sunshine smile lighting up his face._

_“More like concern for your ass,” I quip._

_“Asshole,” he says as we pull up to his building. “This neighborhood is just as safe as yours,” he tells me as we get out of the car. I walk over and step onto the sidewalk in front of the brick building that looks so much like mine._

_“Oh, that’s a comfort, seeing as I was robbed.”_

_“Years ago,” he says with a scoff. “Plus, I am a real artist now and _all_ the artists live in this area. It’s perfectly safe,” he tells me._

_I swallow my fears and let him pull me into the building. “Fine, whatever, but you're getting an alarm installed.”  
_  
I pull up in front of Justin’s building, immediately noticing Justin’s car. I smile, knowing he must have gotten wrapped up in his art. He has been on a creative high since selling his first piece. 

I get out of the car, closing the door behind me.

I reach for the call box, stopping when I read the ‘out of order’ sign. “Fucking thing never works,” I say to no one. I pull on the door and step into the building.

The elevator ride up to Justin’s loft on the fifth floor seems to be taking forever. When the doors finally open the hair on the back of my neck stands up and my feet slow down. The door seems so far away. I finally get to his door, after what seems like hours.

I put my key in the lock and turn it. The door is not locked and I feel the bottom fall out of my stomach. “Something’s wrong,” I whisper. The only sound I hear is silence. Justin always draws and paints with the music blasting. I put one palm on the door and the other on the handle, getting ready to slide the door open.

“Hey.” I turn my head and look into the eyes of Mrs. McHenry. She is almost eighty and she lives in the loft across from Justin’s studio. Justin talks about her all the time. She is the bitch of the building; bitter, old and lingering. “Tell that _friend_ of yours to keep the noise down. They were making so much noise I had to turn my show up. I can’t bid on the prices if I can’t hear properly,” she tells me as she walks over. She is standing next to me.

“Yeah, I’ll be sure to tell him.” I turn away from her, noticing that she is still standing next to me as I slide the door open. The first thing I see is blood, Justin’s blood. 

The world just stopped spinning.


	2. Do Unto Others...

Justin…  
 _  
“You’re a really good artist.”  
_  
I can see the bright lights far in the distance. I don’t feel anything. Everything is muted, slowed down, paused. Where am I? The bright light comes closer and I can feel something heavy on my chest. It is heavy and hot. “Clear,” I hear someone shout and the heat flows through me again. Stop it, stop it. That hurts. He can’t hear me. I try to open my mouth, to speak. No words come out. All of a sudden I feel air rush into my lungs and my mind starts to panic.

“We’ve got a pulse, let’s move him.” I feel my body rise into the air and my heart slows down. I am scared but my heart is slowing down. Thoughts are racing through my mind but I can’t focus on anything. “Call ahead; tell the hospital that we’re bringing in a critical. Multiple stab wounds to the chest and abdomen. Let’s move.” 

“I’m going with you.” Brian, I can hear Brian. Brian is that you? What’s going on? I can’t remember, but I can’t forget.  
 _  
“I’d like to see some of your new stuff.”  
_  
I can’t focus on anything. Brian, where are you? Where’d you go? I feel my body jerk, just a little. I make myself open my eyes. I need to see. I feel too vulnerable, too exposed. I hear the sirens, the sounds of the ambulance and police cars, and suddenly my eyes pop open. I see the inside of the ambulance and I start to panic. I can’t breathe.   
_  
“What happened?”_

_“Some kid hit him in the head with a baseball bat.”  
_  
This has all happened before and I can’t breathe. I try to sit up. My mind tries to run. “Oh man, he’s waking up.” I have to get up. I have to get out of here. I’m suffocating… and then there are hands on me. “What’s his name?” Justin, my name is Justin. You can ask me; talk to me. I can hear you. Why are you holding me down?

“Justin,” Brian says. Brian, Brian is here. I can’t see him. 

“Justin, Justin, you have to calm down. You’re going to further injure yourself,” I hear. Adrenaline is pumping through my body. I can’t stop it. I move to sit up, to get off the stretcher and burst out of the ambulance.  
 __  
“I was so scared Brian,” I tell him. He looks at me with a scowl on his face.

_“Justin, you were unconscious, there is no way that you remember riding in the ambulance,” he says as he takes a drink of Beam. I sit next to him and lean on his arm._

_“I remember it, and I never want to experience it again, ever.”  
_  
The hands are holding me down, keeping me flat on the stretcher. I am cold, so cold. I feel myself start to shake and as fast as the brightness came the darkness starts to eat it away. 

**

Brian…

Justin was here, for five brief minutes he was lucid. They were the best five minutes of my life. He stops struggling and I watch helplessly from the corner of the ambulance as they try to bring him back, wake him up. Bring him back to life. The ambulance gets to the hospital and I swallow down the invisible lump in my throat as they quickly fling the doors open and roll Justin out of the back. 

I climb out of the ambulance, remembering back years ago when I had to do the same thing. I walk slowly into the hospital, trailing behind the stretcher as the E.M.T delivers all the information he has about Justin to the attending doctor. They disappear through the double doors and I am hit with the all too real results of that action. I can’t go back there.  
 __  
“Why are we signing these papers?” I ask.

_“We are signing them because after all this time I finally got you to admit to at least a semi-relationship. I’m milking it for all its worth.”_

_“Yeah right, you just want to be able to pull my plug and take all my money,” I joke. Justin smiles up at me and bites down on his tongue, the tip sticking out just enough to excite me._

_“Well yeah, that too.”  
_  
It’s not because I’m gay, or a man, or because some asshole has a personal problem with me just because I happen to be breathing. In this space outside the double doors we are all the same. The playing field is level, even and fair. We are all the same. Blind.

**

Ronnie Jr. …

I pull over at the Motel 6 and get out of my car. I walk up the stairs to the second floor and pull the key from my pocket. I open the door and step into the room. I lock the door behind me and walk past the bed, heading straight to the bathroom. I strip out of my clothes and stuff them all into a plastic bag.   
__  
I watch as daddy rolls Tex into the heavy plastic bag, trying hard not to cry. Daddy doesn’t like it when little boys cry. He says only girls cry. Daddy ties the plastic bag and tosses Tex into the shallow hole. “Fucking dog, he wasn’t worth the trouble anyway,” daddy says as he finishes his beer, crunches the can and tosses it into the hole with Tex.

_“Finish burying the fucking thing. I’m gonna go get a beer.” I stand next to mommy as daddy walks past us and into the house. We listen as he walks out the front door and gets into the car. As the car drives away mommy lets out the air in her lungs._

_“You go ahead and cry if you want to,” Mommy says as she sits my little brother down on the grass and starts to fill the hole with dirt. “Cry all you want.”  
_  
I tie the bag shut and toss it onto the floor. I turn on the shower and step under the spray, not bothering to add cold water to the equation. I grab the small soap and wash away all evidence of tonight’s activities.   
_  
“Make sure you wash really good… and you better never tell your mother, do you hear me?” I nod my head. I am shaking and too afraid to speak. Never tell, never tell.  
_  
I turn the shower off and dry off, hanging the wet towel up on the bar. I walk out into the room, scratching my pubic hair and softly rubbing my still aching cock. My phone starts to ring and I look around the room before spotting it on the nightstand. I look at the display and smile as I see the name. “Hey,” I say.

“Hey honey, when do you think you’ll be home from work? I wanted to have your food warm for you.” I smile. 

“Umm, I should be home in just a few. Are the kids asleep already?” I ask.

“Yeah, they got hungry so I went ahead and fed them. I’ll be up waiting, get here soon, okay?” I can hear the lust and desire in her voice and I lick my lips.

“Someone’s in a happy mood,” I say and listen as she giggles. “Alison?”

“Yes, honey?”

“I love you,” I tell her.

“I love you too baby.” I hang up the phone and hurry to get dressed. I slide into my clothes and grab all my things, picking up the plastic bag last.

**

Brian…

I stare at the phone in my hand. I have no idea who to call or what to do. “Excuse me, sir. Excuse me.” I turn toward the voice; it belongs to a nurse not too much older than me. I stare at her but I don’t hear any of the words coming out of her mouth. I force myself to focus, to hear her. “Is there anyone that you need us to call?”

“His mother, call his mother,” I say, barely above a whisper. I give her the number, learned over time after numerous fights and walkouts.  
 __  
“Why don’t you know my mother’s number?” Justin asks me out of the blue.

_“Why would I want to know your mother’s phone number?”_

_“Because, she’s my mother,” Justin reasons. I lick my lips and look up at him. He is watching me, waiting for me to say something._

_“Exactly, she’s your mother… not mine.”_

_“You’re such a fucking asshole,” he tells me before walking away.  
_  
I sit down in the chair after answering more questions. It’s plastic and cold, designed to perpetuate the waiting. I stare at the blood on my jeans, slowly letting the reality of everything seep into my brain, my body, my skin. 

Time flies. I don’t notice. No one comes out to inform me of the situation and I am starting to think too much. “Brian,” I hear. I look up into Jennifer’s confused face. I can’t stop the tears that have already started their descent down my face, sweeping through the blood and lingering on my lips. 

She doesn’t say anything. The blood on my clothes and the look in my eyes tells her that no words from her will help. Nothing she can say will make me feel better. I want to call Mikey, I need to, but my fingers won’t dial the number. I stare at the blood on my hands as Jennifer sits down next to me. 

I look over at her and smile, enough for her to know that I am still in the same place as her; can still hear her. I shift my eyes and watch as the double doors fling open. A doctor, dressed from head to toe in green scrubs walks over to us. He tried his best to look presentable, professional, but I can see the small spot of blood that has taken up residence on his shirt. 

It’s the only thing I see.

“Hi, are you here for Justin?” He asks. “Justin… Umm, Taylor?” He asks as he looks at the chart in his hand. I barely remember giving the nurse any information. Did I? I don’t remember. 

“How is he?” I ask. I don’t have time for pleasantries and false hopes. I need to know. I need to be able to brace myself. “Is he still alive?”

“Brian,” Jennifer says. She wants me to let the doctor talk, let him finish. He’s not talking fast enough. I look at her and feel my emotions calm, slightly.

“Mr. Kinney, Mrs. Taylor,” he starts. How does he know my name? “Justin has multiple stab wounds and severe damage to the rectum. He also seems to have some slight head trauma and a few broken ribs. His jaw was also displaced, and he is missing three teeth.” He pauses and lets us breathe. I don’t want an intermission. I need to hear everything at once. I need to swallow it all down at the same time.

I look over at Jennifer and she is shaking as she searches through her purse for a tissue. Dr. Salas reaches over and hands her the tissue box on the small table next to him. “Are you okay Mrs. Taylor? Do you want to step out while I tell Mr. Kinney the rest?”

“No, no, just please, continue.”

“Okay,” he says as he looks at her and then at me. “His right lung collapsed during the surgery to repair the stab wounds and make sure that no major organs were damaged. He did encounter some minor damage to the bladder, but only time will tell if that will remain permanent or not. He also stopped breathing three times, so we are monitoring his breathing closely,” he says.

“All things considered, he is very lucky.” I look at the man in front of me and suppress the overwhelming desire I have to kick his ass. I know that he did not mean for that comment to sting… but it did. “There was only minimal internal bleeding. He is capable of breathing on his own but I have ordered him on the machine until we are certain that he is out of the woods.”

“When can we see him?” I ask. I have to see him. I have to. 

“He is still in surgery. They are closing him up and making sure that everything is in order. After that, he’ll be moved to a room.”

“I want it to be private,” I tell him, my voice quiet and steady, monotone. He opens his mouth. “I don’t care what it costs and I don’t care who you have to move. I want him in a private room.” He nods his head and writes something down in the charts. 

“I’ll be back out when Justin is ready to be moved to another room,” he says. He shakes our hands and walks off down the hall and back through the double doors. I let out a breath of air, content to just breathe. 

“You have to change your clothes,” Jennifer says out of nowhere. I look down at my clothes, at the blood. Jennifer won’t look at me, she won’t touch me. I didn’t notice that before. “You can’t let Justin see you like that.”

**

Ronnie Jr. …

“What’s wrong Ron?” Alison asks me. I look up at her and run my hands over her breast and down her stomach as she sits on top of me, my dick fully impaled inside of her. Her blond hair falls over her shoulder as she looks down at me. “You look like you’re somewhere else.”

“I’m fine,” I say as I grip her hips, signaling her to move. She starts to ride me and I let the world fall away. My thoughts go back to the blond from earlier and I bite my bottom lip as I thrust into her.  
 __  
I sit in the shadows of the hallway and watch as my babysitter climbs onto my fathers lap, naked. My mom is out running errands. My dad is supposed to be at work. “Oh fuck, shit,” Wendy yells as she moves up and down. I want to run to my room, but I am too scared to move.

_If I move daddy will see me. “You are so fucking… tight, shit.” I cover my ears and close my eyes as I try to make myself as small as possible. I don’t know how much time passes before I feel someone tapping on my head. I look up and Wendy is smiling at me._

_“Go outside and play, ya fucking little perv,” Wendy says as she snaps the hooks of her bra closed and walks over to the couch. My daddy is gone.  
_  
I feel Alison clamp down on me and I come inside of her, biting my lip hard as I think of the smooth tight ass of the young boy. “Oh my God, that was amazing,” she says as she collapses on top of me. I smooth my hand over her back, feeling along her spine. “Oh God, I love you so much.”

I kiss the top of her head and run my fingers through her hair until she falls asleep.

**

Justin…

Brian? Brian, where are you? He was here before. I feel pain all over and I can’t open my mouth. There is something down my throat. I open my eyes and look into the unfamiliar room. A dim light is the only thing that keeps the room from being completely dark. “Mmm,” I moan but I can’t talk. 

I shift my eyes over and see my mother, asleep in the plastic chair. “Mmm,” I say again, trying to get her attention. She finally starts to stir and when she opens her eyes I feel as if I have just jumped a giant hurdle.

“What is it sweetie?” She asks. Sweetie, why is she calling me sweetie? I want to ask her where Brian is but my voice won’t work. I feel my eyes start to close again. I’m so tired.

“Mmm,” I say again. I manage to wiggle my ring finger. The rest of my body won’t move. I can feel the tears as they start to fall from my eyes, trailing past my ears and soaking into the pillow. 

“Brian?” She asks. I make a noise and blink. “Brian, he was covered in….” Covered in what? Tell me, TELL ME. Blood, Brian was covered in blood; my blood? “He’s waiting for Michael to come and pick him up so he can go and clean up.” I let my eyes ask the questions my mouth can’t. “He’ll be back. I didn’t want you to see him that way,” she tells me. 

I let myself fall back into oblivion with the knowledge that Brian will be back.  
 __  
“If I ever got hurt again would you visit me in the hospital?” I ask. Brian reaches over and grabs a cigarette. He lights it and takes a long drag.

_“You come up with the weirdest shit at the weirdest times,” Brian says as we lay tangled together, freshly fucked and wanting more. I look up at the ceiling and scratch at a spot on my arm._

_“Well… would you?” I ask again. Brian exhales the smoke into the air and looks over at me, pulling me close to him._

_“Are you planning on ending up in the hospital anytime soon?” He asks me. I roll my eyes and lick his neck._

_“Brian, just answer the question,” I say as I straddle his hips and grind my ass into his cock. “If, and I’m just saying, If something happened to me and I was in the hospital would you visit me and stay with me?”_

_“Do I have to stay even if your mom is there?” He asks me. I lick his chest, trailing my tongue up to his mouth and pressing my lips to his._

_“Yes.”_

_“What?”_

_“Yes, you have to stay even if my mother is there,” I tell him._

_“Why? And you are so killing the mood with all this hospital talk,” he says. I smile at him. I know he is lying. I can feel that he’s lying. “Why do I have to be there?”_

_“Because… I can breathe without my mother.”  
_

* * *

Thanks to my beta. You ROCK.


	3. Do Unto Others...

Thank you to my beta. You are the best girl.

These are pictures of two of Justin’s injuries, just incase you are like me and like to really, really visualize (Although, Lord knows my imagination is enough). I didn’t show you all the pictures because some of them got graphic, but these are okay… I think.

[Displaced Jaw](http://catalog.nucleusinc.com/enlargeexhibit.php?ID=65)   
[Right Wrist Fracture](http://catalog.nucleusinc.com/enlargeexhibit.php?ID=9117)

* * *

Brian…

“Brian, Brian….” I can hear Michael calling my name, but his voice is far away.  
 _  
I look into his eyes and realize that he is serious, dead serious. “Okay,” I tell him. “If anything happens to you… I’ll be there, every step of the way.” He smiles and presses his lips to mine. I let my hands rake through his hair as he grinds his ass into me._

_“Promise me,” he says as he bites on my bottom lip, just enough to cause the slightest bit of pain._

_“Promise you? What are you… eight?” I ask. He sits up and looks at me. “I said I’d be there,” I tell him._

_“I know, just… just, promise me, okay. Do you promise?” he asks. I slide my hand behind his neck and pull him close to me before flipping us over._

_“I promise.”  
_  
“Brian,” Michael says again. I look up at him and smile weakly before staring straight ahead. “How is Justin?” I feel a tear make its way down my cheek and I don’t bother to wipe it away. “What happened?” 

Michael asks me question after question, until they’re all one big jumble in my head and his voice is just a blur.

“Michael,” I say softly and he stops talking to look at me. “Can you go to the loft and get me something to wear?” I don’t look at him. He takes in a deep breath and I can feel his eyes as they comb over my body, taking in my appearance for the first time. I let him look, let him see.

“I… I thought you wanted to go to the loft and get cleaned up,” he says confused. I nod and turn my head to look at him. He looks into my eyes and I know he sees. He sees the things that I need to say… but can’t. 

“I can’t leave him, I just can’t.” 

Michael nods his head and puts his hand on my arm as he stands up. I clamp my hand down on his wrist as he moves to step away. He stops in his tracks, frozen in front of me. I use his wrist to help me pull myself up. 

We both look at my hand. The blood is still staining it, transferring the reality of Justin’s situation from me to Michael. We both stay silent as I wrap my arms around him and hug him tight. He hugs me back and after an eternity we let go of each other. 

“I’ll be back as fast as I can,” he says. I give him a sad smile and watch as he takes off down the hallway. I let my body relax into the hard chair as I take in the few moments of quiet that have washed over the hospital. The only sounds are the beeping of machines and the soft shedding of tears.

I look down the hall and past the nurse’s station. The large window at the end of the hallway tells anyone who looks that it is a whole new day. I look up at the large clock and note the time. It is past ten o’clock in the morning. 

Where did all the time go? Over seventeen hours have passed. It feels like fifteen minutes.

I sigh as I look at Justin’s hospital door, but I stay where I am, and let Jennifer have her time. 

She needs her time. I can give her that. 

I don’t know how much time has passed when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I open my eyes and look at Michael. He has a small black duffel bag hanging from his shoulder. “I brought you extra, incase, incase you needed it,” he says hesitantly. He doesn’t know what to say, or what to do.

“Thanks,” I say. I don’t have the energy to make a witty comment or try to cover up my emotions. I take the bag from him and walk over to the nurse’s station. I tell her my situation and she leads me to a visitor’s bathroom, lined on one side with a bank of showers, each one separated by a thin white plastic shower curtain. 

I stand in front of the mirror as the time ticks away. I look at all the blood, Justin’s blood. It’s dark red, drying, and turning brown along the edges. I struggle to swallow down the acid that creeps into my mouth, tracing a path back up through my esophagus. I can’t win the fight. 

I lean down and empty the putrid acid into the sink, gripping the sides of the porcelain fixture so tightly it feels like it may crack. I rinse the bile from the sink and stand up straight, zipping open the duffel bag and looking through its contents. 

I pull out the toothbrush that Mikey packed and brush my teeth. He forgot the toothpaste. I finish the everyday task… that today seems like the hardest thing in the world to do. I start to strip out of my clothes, piece by piece. 

I pile the clothes in a heap on the floor and step into the dry shower, turning the water on.

I adjust the temperature of the water and watch as the blood starts to separate from my skin. I grab a wrapped bar of soap off of the holder in the stall and open it, working up a lather and letting the paper fall to the tile below. 

I ignore the cardboard smell of the small bar as I coat my skin in the cleansing agent.  
 __  
“This soap doesn’t smell like anything,” I say as he steps into the shower. He looks at me like I grew a third eye and shrugs his shoulders.

_“So,” he says as he takes it from me and sniffs it. “Who cares if the soap is odorless?” He asks as he starts to wash himself._

_“Me,” I tell him. “What’s the point of having soap if it doesn’t smell like anything?”_

_“Are you sure you’re not a girl?” He asks with pure sincerity. I stick my tongue in between my top lip and my gums, smirking at him as he fills the shower with soft laughter. “It doesn’t matter what the soap smells like, plus, the unscented is cheaper.”_

_“Cheaper?” I ask as I take the full bar of soap and let my eyes focus on the brand name pressed into the milky white bar. I have never heard of the brand before. “Fuck that shit,” I say as I see the name. “I’m not using it.”_

_“Fine, you don’t have to.”  
_  
I go through the motions as fast as I can and turn the water off, shaking down past memories. 

I quickly get dressed, every movement made with purpose. “Brian,” I hear as I am stepping into my shoe. I stand up straight and zip up the duffel bag. I turn to Mikey and wait for him to say something.

“Jennifer said that Justin is awake. He’s asking for you.” I take off out of the bathroom before he can finish delivering the message.

**

Justin…

I open my eyes and wince as the light assaults me. I can barely remember anything. I see my mother in the chair next to my bed. She is holding my hand and staring straight ahead. I close my eyes and will my left hand to move, to get her attention. I feel her grip on my hand tighten and my eyes flutter back open. 

Everything is in slow motion.

“Justin,” she says as she stands up quickly. She looks over my body and smiles weakly. I don’t want the tube in my throat. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to cry, but I can feel the tears as they start to pool in my eyes. I grip her hand again, pleading with her. I love you mom, but where is Brian? Get him for me, please, okay. 

I try to say something, anything, but no sound comes out. I lay there as the oxygen is forced into my lungs and the tears stream from my eyes. I look at her and then shift my eyes over to the door as I flex my hand. I watch as she wipes the tears away from her eyes and it all clicks into place for her. “Brian?”

I nod my head, as best as I can, and squeeze her hand. “Mmm,” I moan over the rush of air that is pulsed into me.

“I’ll get him. I’ll get him,” she says. Thank you, thank you. I know that she wants to be here with me, but she is not who I want. It is so cold in this room, so cold. I can feel the tremors as they run through my body. The thin blanket that I can feel on my skin is doing nothing to keep me warm. 

I stare at the ceiling as the tears on my face start to dry. I start to count the beats of my heart as I lay here and wonder what happened. Everything is in bits and pieces, there is no full picture. I try hard to fight off the panic that wants to settle in my chest. 

I hear the door start to open and I look over. I recognize the hand on the door before I see the rest of him. “Hey,” Brian says as he closes the door and slowly walks over to the bed.

Hey, I want to smile and tell you I am fine, but I can’t. “They have a tube down your throat to help you breath,” he tells me. I feel the tears renew themselves. He bends over and places a tentative kiss on my forehead and we both listen as the action causes my heart to speed up. He smiles shyly at the noise and sits down in the abandoned chair.

He holds onto my hand and I can feel all of his strength and resolve falling away. I can’t reassure him. I can’t pull him close and hold him tight, but I hold onto his hand like it is my last link to living. The same goes for him… and I watch as he starts to cry. He holds onto my hand and let’s go of everything.   
__  
“You’re crushing my hand. Why are you so nervous? Been fucking around without a condom?” Brian asks me, his eyebrow raised into the air.

_“No asshole. I just… don’t like needles.” I watch with wide eyes as the doctor turns around with the needle._

_“Oh, it won’t be so bad,” the doctor says. I close my eyes and tighten my grip on Brian’s hand. I barely feel anything. I have his strength. “Okay, that’s it. You should get your results in about three days.”  
_  
“Brian,” the doctor says as he walks into the room. “Justin, you’re awake. I’m Dr. Salas,” he says as he focuses his attention on me. Yeah, I’m up. What’s wrong with me? He walks over and stands on the other side of the bed, across from Brian. 

I look at him and make a grunting noise as I pull my hand free from Brian’s and gesture at the tube that is restricting my speech.

“You were assaulted yesterday… and stabbed multiple times. When you arrived in the emergency room you were immediately sent to surgery to stop the bleeding.” My heart starts to beat faster as he gives the reason for my pain. “You had a collapsed lung. We were able to get it re-inflated but we kept the tube in to make sure you had peak air flow,” he tells me, slowly so that I can absorb everything.

“There was a severe amount of rectal tearing and inflammation. Your jaw was also displaced and your wrist was fractured… most likely while you were trying to defend yourself. I can feel my body tremble as the shaking gets worse. He puts the chart down and moves closer to the bed. 

“Justin, do you want me to stop?”

I move my head slightly from side to side. I need him to tell me everything, everything. Tell me now. Brian gets up and stands next to me.

“Just tell him everything,” Brian says.

I feel Brian’s hand on my shoulder and I move my left hand up and lace our fingers together. “You have a couple of broken ribs, that’s why it’s hard for you to move. There is a brace around you to help keep the ribs from moving around. There is quite a bit of swelling, some missing teeth and multiple bruises,” he tells me, saying the last part quickly.  
 __  
“What are you watching?” Brian asks as he walks into the loft. I turn to look at him before quickly focusing my attention on the television again.

_“Discovery health,” I tell him. He walks over and stands behind me on the sofa. I look up at him and he leans over and presses his lips to mine. I break the kiss and look back at the screen. “This lady was in a gang fight.”_

_“That’s all? A fight and she looks like that?” Brian asks in surprise. I tilt my head slightly to the side and roll my lips into my mouth._

_“Yeah, well, the human body is really, really fragile. It doesn’t take too much to really get hurt. I mean you can die from falling down the stairs,” I tell him._

_“I’d rather die fucking,” he says as he walks over to the bedroom and starts to undress._

_I watch the woman’s family as they wait for the doctor to tell them something, anything. “Knowing you, you probably will.”  
_  
“I am going to check your injuries and make sure that none of them have gotten worse.” I close my eyes and hold on tight to Brian’s hand as the doctor gets closer to me. He moves slowly as he checks over my injuries. 

“How long is he going to have to be here?” I hear Brian ask as Dr. Salas looks at my ribs. I feel the increased pressure as the brace is secured back into place. 

“Well, provided there are no complications… he’ll probably be released in a few days.” I shake my head from side to side as quickly as I can. I can’t stay in the hospital that long. Not again, not again. I can’t. 

“Justin,” Dr. Salas says. “You have suffered severe injuries. We’ll give it a couple of days, make sure you’re okay, and then we’ll see about getting you released.” I don’t want to stay here. I don’t want to stay here alone.  
 __  
“What’s wrong with the cute blond in 453D?” Nurse Sally asks as she walks into the supply closet. Elaine finishes counting the syringes and writes the number down on the inventory sheet she is filling out.

_“I think he’s waiting for someone,” Elaine says._

_“Must be someone pretty special,” Sally says as she grabs some saline drips._  
  
“There is one more thing,” Dr. Salas says as he looks at Brian and then at me. He looks back down and writes one more thing in my chart. When he finishes he holds the metal clipboard close to his chest and steps closer to the bed.

“What?” Brian asks. He says the things I want to say.

“You’re going to have to go back to surgery to….”

“For what?” Brian asks.

“We have to repair the fractured wrist and set your jaw. If they are not repaired… you run the possibility of the bones not healing properly, which could result in disfigurement and or loss of mobility. Will I be able to talk after the surgery?

“How long will it take?” Brian asks.

“It’s a fairly simple procedure. The jaw will be set with a metal plate and then the jaw will effectively be… wired shut,” he says as he looks at me and Brian. Oh my God. “The wrist will be the same type of procedure. It should be somewhere around two hours, tops.” I listen as he talks more and more about my injuries. 

I start to zone out, leaving him and Brian to talk. Until I hear him say police.

**

Detective Jorge Ramirez…

“Has the place been taped off?” I ask as I walk toward the building. There are people everywhere, trying to see exactly what is going on in the building.

“Yes sir, we taped off the area as soon as we got here. We’ve been waiting for you to get here before going into the actual unit. We have a list off all the tenants in the building and we are questioning everyone about their whereabouts between the hours of five o’clock and nine o’clock last night,” Officer Josh Hilling tells me. 

I nod my head as we get off the elevator on the fifth floor. There are officers everywhere, waiting to go into the unit. “Where is the photographer?” I ask. A short woman steps up to me and shakes my hand. “Detective Ramirez,” I say.

“Officer Marie Gloss,” she says. I lead her into the loft and look around, careful not to touch anything as she snaps pictures of everything, even the trashcan. I let the click of her camera lull me into a trance as I take in every inch of the space. 

I notice a blood red piece of material sticking out from under what appears to be a shirt. I look up at her and point to the articles of clothing. “Did you get pictures of this?” I ask. 

“Yeah, I got the whole place.” I nod my approval and pull two rubber gloves out of a holder on my belt loop. 

“Good, make sure you get the hallway,” I say as I move the ripped and bloodied shirt to the side and pick up the discarded piece of material. It is silk, strong… and cut, leaving the knot still intact. Officer Hilling comes up behind me as I am looking at the material and squats down next to me.

“Find something?”

“I think so. This scarf looks similar to the scarves that have been found over the past few years in a number of rape and murder scenes. Clear out the hallway, I want only essential people up here. No one comes in here without gloves, no one.”

“Yes sir. I’ll get right on it,” he says as he stands up and hurries out of the loft. 

Twenty minutes later and my small team is combing through every inch of the space, looking for any sort of clue and collecting all the evidence they can; hair, blood, semen, everything. 

“What do we know about the victim?” I ask Josh as I pull off the rubber gloves and toss them into the dumpster outside the building. 

Josh flips open his spiral pad and reads off the information he collected. “Twenty-four year old, white male, used the unit as a studio. He lives off of Tremont with his boyfriend.” I listen as he goes through the rest of the information.

“Where is he now?” I ask as we reach my car. Josh turns the page of his notebook and taps his pen against the roof of my car. 

“He was taken to the trauma unit at Pittsburgh Mercy Hospital. He was in pretty bad shape,” Josh says.

We get into the car and slam the doors closed. “Has he been questioned?” 

“I don’t believe so.”

“Get some units over there, now. I want all the evidence we can salvage before the hospitals housekeeping staff destroys everything… and I am gonna want to talk to him as soon as possible.”

“You got it,” Josh says as he starts relaying my requests into the police walkie talkies. I turn on my lights and speed through the traffic. 

“Something tells me that this kid is lucky to be alive.”


	4. Do Unto Others...

AN: Thank you to my lovely beta. Thanks to all the girls who helped me when I got stuck.

* * *

Ronnie Jr. …  
 _  
Six and a half years old…_

_“Mommy,” I say as she laces my shoes and helps me get ready for school._

_“Yes sweetie,” she asks me, her fingers working overtime to try and button my jacket before the school bus comes._

_Her hair is thinning and falling out, pieces at a time._

_“Are you gonna be here for always?” She stops buttoning my jacket. She stops breathing. She looks at me like it is the last time she is ever going to see me._

_She is scaring me._

_“Ronnie,” she says before leading me over to the sofa and sitting me down beside her. I look up at her, my eyes wide and frozen in place. “Do you remember when the doctor said that mommy was sick?” I nod my head. I remember. “Well, sometimes when people are really sick they can’t live anymore. They are just too tired.”_

_“Like Tex?”_

_“Yeah baby, just like Tex,” she tells me with a smile as she wipes the tears from her eyes. “And just like Tex, I will always be in here. I’ll always be in your heart,” she tells me as she pats my chest and kisses my cheek._

_**_

_Ten years old…_

_I sit in the hard plastic chair, holding my little brother’s hand and watching as the doctors and nurses walk in an out of mom’s room. I don’t like the hospital, they stink._

_Ryan looks up at me with tears in his eyes. He doesn’t understand what’s wrong. He starts to kick his feet back and forth and I can hear his stomach start to rumble. “Ronnie,” he says as he looks up at me, tears tainting his green eyes. “I’m hungry.”_

_I can see the corner of mom’s bed when one of the nurses walks out of the room. ‘You are the big brother Ronnie; you have to take care of him. You have to protect him and keep him safe.’ That’s what mom always tells me, that’s what she always says. “Okay,” I say as I get up out of the chair. I wait for him to get down before I grab onto his hand again._

_I walk down the halls, invisible to everyone. I stop outside room 220E and watch as the white dividing curtain is pulled back to reveal an uneaten food tray. I move across the hall and wait, making sure none of the nurses are looking at me._

_“You wait right here, don’t move, okay?” I say as I stand him flush against the wall, his three year old body almost blending in._

_“Okay,” he says. I walk into the room and take the sandwich, fruit, and juice off of the tray. All the portions are small, bite-sized. I put the food in my pocket, just incase we get caught, and leave out of the room as quietly as possible, trying hard not to wake up the old man._

_I lead my little brother back over to the chairs in front of our mother’s room. A nurse comes out and I can see that they have dimmed the lights, prepared her for death. Mom doesn’t like the dark. “We are still trying to get in touch with your dad, okay?” She says._

_“Okay.” They’ll never find him. He knows how to disappear when he wants to. I wait for her to walk away before pulling the food from my pocket and giving it to Ryan. He eats it quietly._

_I let him have it all. I am the big brother. I have to take care of him. Mom says so._

_“Ronnie,” Ryan asks as he drinks some of the apple juice. I look over at him and smile. “Is mommy going to go up to the sky?” Daddy doesn’t like liars. Mom says that sometimes you have to tell a little bit of a lie, and that’s okay. “Is she Ronnie? Is she?”_

_I look at my little brother and I want to lie. I want to tell him that mom will be fine, but I can’t. “Yeah, mommy is going to go up to the sky. But, you don’t have to worry… because you have me and I am going to take care of you,” I tell him as I snake my arm around his neck and pull him into an awkward hug._

_He eats the last piece of his sandwich and looks over at me. “Well,” he says, mouth stuffed. “What about daddy?”_

_“Don’t worry about dad. I’ll worry about him, okay?”_

_“Okay.”_

_The sound of machines going off wakes me up and I sit up straight in my chair. Ryan is still asleep, curled up in a ball on the hard plastic chair. I take off my jacket and cover him with it. I look up and see my dad strolling into the hospital. He is drunk. I can tell from here._

_I stay quiet. Talking gets you in trouble._

_The doctor walks up to him and extends his hand, dropping it quickly when my dad sighs and sucks his teeth. “She fucking dead yet?” He asks. I immediately look over at Ryan, thankful that he is still asleep._

_The doctor tenses. The callousness that my dad shows is new to him, but I am used to it. My dad stopped caring a long time ago._

_“Yes, Mr. Matthews, she passed away at approximately ten fifty-seven.” I sit there in the chair, too afraid to move. My dad still hasn’t noticed me, us, sitting here. “If you want to you can….”_

_“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” my dad says as he scratches at the stubble on his chin. “Where’s the fucking bathroom in this place, fuck.”  
_  
“Dad,” my son calls, snapping me back to reality. I turn my head to look at him, the coffee mug barely touching my lips. “We have to go or I’m gonna be late for school.” I nod my head and watch as he grabs his book bag before heading out the door. 

I drink the rest of my coffee, letting the warmth wake me up.  
 __  
“This is really good coffee.”

_“Thanks, my boyfriend bought it. He is really anal about stuff like that,” he says with a shrug as he takes a drink. I watch his neck as he swallows, wanting so bad to taste him. I have to wait until the right moment._

_“Have you ever heard of Francois Bearoe?” He asks all of a sudden, his eyes sparkling. I shake my head ‘no,’ adding a small smile to the gesture. “He’s great. I just recently discovered him,” he says as he moves to one of his cutting tables._

_The surface is white, pure white._

_He pulls out a large art book and opens it up to a beautiful painting. “Don’t you just love the use of color? It’s amazing.”_

_“Yeah, it’s beautiful,” I say, my eyes never leaving his face.  
_  
The opening of the screen door brings me back again and I look into the frustrated face of my son. “Dad, would you come on.” He walks back out the door and I hear the car door slam shut.

Alison walks into the kitchen, her hair pulled back into a tight bun and her skirt neatly pressed. She is beautiful. “You better go before he starts to honk the horn,” she says as she kisses me on the lips and goes to pour a cup of coffee.

I grab my art portfolio and graded papers before heading out the door. Drop Michael off at school. Head to class. I love my job. Teaching advanced art concept and design classes are more than air to me. 

**

Jorge Ramirez…

I walk up to a young nurse standing in front of a patient’s door. “Excuse me,” I say. She turns and I show her my badge. Josh stands next to me, letting me run the show. “I’m Detective Ramirez and this is my partner Officer Hilling. I need to see a patient that was brought in here a few hours ago.” 

She nods and walks over to the nurse’s station. “What’s their name?”

“Justin Taylor.” 

I wait while she looks up Justin’s name. I look over at Josh and his eyes are scanning the hallways, always on the lookout. “You are sure he is here, right?” I ask. He walks closer to me and nods his head.

“That’s what they said.” The nurse looks up at us and hesitantly tells us that Justin is back in surgery. She points down the hall toward a tall, thin man. He is sitting in the chair staring out at nothing.

He looks almost dead. 

“That’s his umm,” she hesitates as she looks between me and Josh. “Partner,” she says quickly. She doesn’t know how we may react so she speaks with caution. I thank her and start to walk away from her. She smiles sweetly and goes back to her work, her attention now partially trained on us.

I stop close enough to the man, who I assume is Brian Kinney, and softly clear my throat. “Excuse me, Mr. Kinney?” He looks up at me. His eyes are glassy and tired, and the shadow of a beard is starting to creep across his face.

“Brian,” he corrects absently as he looks up at me. “Who in the fuck are you?” He blinks his eyes slowly, not bothering to close them all the way. He glances toward the double doors down the hall and then at the clock on the wall. 

I open my mouth to say something but he beats me to it.

“They are running over. He should have been out by now. It’s been five hours,” he says as he wrings his hands together. I catch a flash of a silver ring on the middle finger of his right hand and mentally file it away.

I breathe in a breath of air and push on. “Mr. Kinney, Brian. Do you mind if we ask you a couple of questions?” Josh pulls out his pad and a pen, ready to write down anything that Mr. Kinney might say. 

Brian looks at me and clears his throat before nodding his head.

I ask him all the standard questions. Where was he the night that the incident took place? Can anyone confirm his whereabouts? Does Justin have any enemies? Can he think of anyone that would want to harm his partner? 

He answers all of my questions, all of them, some with a note of disgust and impatience. I take a step back when Brian moves to stand up. He runs a hand through his hair and moves toward the nurse’s station. 

“Hey, do you think it would be possible to get someone to go and check on what is taking so fucking long?” He asks the nurse that is sitting behind the desk. She is about to protest when she sees the look on his face.

“I’ll see what I can find out.” She gets up from her chair and walks toward the double doors, disappearing from sight. Brian turns to me and looks at me as if it is the first time he has seen me.

“Do you need something else?” He asks. 

“Yeah,” I say stepping closer. “We need to talk to Justin, as soon as he is able.” I pull my card from my pocket and hand it to him. He rolls his lips into his mouth and gives a small nod before walking off to meet the nurse halfway.

“Do you want to stick around?” I look over at Josh and shake my head ‘no.’

“Let’s call it a night.” I check my watch and see that it is well past eleven o’clock at night. “Yeah, let’s call it a night. We’ll pick it up tomorrow.” Josh nods and flips his pad closed, sliding it into the pocket of his uniform.

I take one last glance at Brian Kinney before following Josh to the elevators.

**

Brian…

“What is taking so long? He was supposed to be in there two hours, tops.” I listen as she tells me a lot of nothing. “So, you’re basically telling me that I have to wait for the doctor to tell me something.”

“Yes,” she says as she walks away. I don’t look at her. I start to pace the hallway. I can’t sit anymore. I lean against the wall and cross my arms over my chest.  
 _  
“Fuck me Brian. Fuck me.” I bite my bottom lip and will myself to calm down.  
_  
“Brian,” Michael calls and the image of Justin vanishes from in front of my eyes. He was outside, making all the phone calls and telling everyone. 

I look at him and form a smile to play across my lips. “Let me guess, they all want to come to the hospital?” 

“Yeah,” he tells me and I let a small laugh escape. I knew they would want to. “You have no idea what I had to do to get Ma to wait until tomorrow.” We let ourselves smile, grateful for the small break in the tension… in the waiting.

It is short lived as I see the double doors swing open. Dr. Salas comes out, flanked on the right by two doctors and on the left by another. Michael turns to the doctors and moves back toward the wall, closer to me. “Brian,” Dr. Salas says as he nods his head toward Michael. 

“How is Justin? What took so long?” I ask.

“Justin is well, under the circumstances. These are Doctor’s Morrison, Clark and Douglass,” he tells me as he points to each of his colleagues. “It was decided that in order to properly realign Justin’s jaw it was best that his missing teeth be replaced prior to the wiring. Doctor’s Morrison and Clark fit Justin with dental implants, causing the surgery to run a little longer than we anticipated.”

I listen to everything he is telling me, cringing on the inside, but listening. “Everything went smoothly and we were able to repair the fractured jaw and wrist.”

“Where is he? Can I see him?” 

“In about an hour,” Dr. Salas says. We talk for what seems like hours about Justin’s recovery. “I’ll have someone come and get you when he is situated in his room.

“Thanks,” I say. He smiles and nods. The other doctors do the same and they turn to leave, opting to turn to the left and walk down the hall, instead of following Dr. Salas and walking back through the double doors.

“Well, that’s good news at least,” Michael says. 

“Yeah,” I say. I won’t be completely happy until I take Justin home. I know he hates the hospital. “I better call Jennifer. She’ll want to know.”   
__  
“I have to go and pick up Molly. I have to make sure she is ready for school. I have to….” I put my hand on top of hers. The first person to person contact I have had since letting go of Justin’s hand as they wheeled him down to surgery.

_“It’s okay, he’d understand,” I tell her. I know she doesn’t want to leave her baby, but she has to, and this time… this time, he is not alone._

_I am here._

_“Call me, if… if anything changes, okay?” She asks as she picks up her purse and starts to walk away._

_I nod my head._

_What would change? Why would it all suddenly change? I ask the questions, even though I already know the answers. Because, because he is hurt and because it is surgery, and with surgery nothing, **nothing** is absolute.  
_  
“I can call her for you Brian,” Michael says.

I put my hand over his and stop him from pulling out his phone.

“No, I’ll do it.” I walk outside and sit down on the first empty bench I see, pulling out my cigarettes and cell phone with one hand. I press a cigarette in between my lips and press the speed dial button that will connect me with Jennifer Taylor.

“Hello, Brian. What’s wrong? I was just on my way out the door,” Jennifer answers, the words flying out like a strong wind.

“He’s fine, he’s out of surgery. They are going to move him into his room soon.” I listen as she tells me that she is on her way. I close my phone and finish my cigarette, blowing the bluish white smoke into the air.

“Brian,” Michael says as he walks out of the sliding doors. “They moved Justin into the room. You can see him now.” I toss my cigarette onto the ground and ground it out with my toe before following Michael back upstairs.

**

Justin…

My whole face hurts. All the way down to my collarbone. I open my eyes slowly, blinking against the harsh light that is flooding the room. “The light, turn the light off,” I say, my voice slightly muffled from sleep, dryness and the wire holding my mouth closed. 

I hear rustling and then the light is gone. I open my eyes, slowly, and look right into Brian’s face.

“Hey,” I say as I look at him. He looks like he hasn’t slept for days. He rolls his lips into his mouth and nods, a small smile playing on his face. He gets up and kisses me on my cheek. “Water,” I manage to say. He picks up the pink water container and pours me some into a cup. 

He presses the bottom on my bed and props me up, just slightly. The increased pressure on my ass making me all too aware of the events that happened. I wince around the pain as he holds the cup for me. I drink from the straw, letting the room temperature water wet my throat.

I let my head lean back into the pillow and sigh as my eyes fall on the ceiling before resting on Brian again.

“You know,” he says. “This metal is going to seriously impede our sex life.” I feel the tears start to fall down my face and I wince as I move my right arm, trying to wipe them away. The drugs in my system are slowly wearing thin and every movement is followed by the most intense pain. 

Brian leans over and wipes the tears from my eyes. “It’s okay,” Brian whispers to me, his face and arms resting on the handrail of the bed. I move my left hand up and let it merge with his right. “Dr. Salas says that you can go home soon.”

I smile, as much as I can, which isn’t much. The pain runs through me and my grip involuntarily tightens around Brian’s fingers. “Ouch, what’s wrong?”

“Pain,” I squeak out, the pain streaking through my body. It feels hot, like lightening is inside of me, dying to get out. 

Brian presses the call button on the side of the handrail and waits for a nurse to answer. 

“Yes?”

“Yeah, we need some pain medication in here.” 

“Okay, someone will be right there.” The nurse comes quickly, changing the empty IV bags and increasing the drip on the morphine. “It should kick in a few minutes,” she says before checking my vitals and leaving the room.

“I think she likes you,” Brian says with a smirk. “In the nine hours since you got out of surgery she is the only nurse I have seen.” I swallow and try to make my words as clear as I can.

“Twelve… twelve hour… shifts,” I say. Brian looks at me and smirks. 

I force my eyes to stay open. Brian stands next to me, his hand gripping mine. I lock my eyes on the small platinum ring that’s wrapped around the pinky finger on his left hand.   
__  
“What is that?” Brian asks as he looks at the black velvet box on the countertop. I don’t answer. I just sit still on the stool, staring at the box. I tap the top of the box a few times before flipping it open and sitting it back on the counter, facing Brian.

_He sits his beer down, harder than he intends to, and looks at me. “Justin.” I stop him before he can even start to protest. He stares at me, his heart beating as he burns a hole into my chest._

_“I don’t want you to say anything. I am not asking you for anything, but it’s something that I want. It has nothing to do with you. I could care less if you ever put this ring on,” I tell him as I gesture to the two rings in the box._

_“Then what do you want? You want to wear that ring so that everyone will know that you are taken, off-the-market, owned?” He asks as he picks up his beer and walks away from me. “It’s bullshit. Wearing rings is bullshit. They don’t save you from being hurt. Straight men wear rings and cheat at the same time. It’s meaningless.”_

_I expected as much._

_“Yeah, that’s true,” I admit as I run a hand through my hair. “But I still want to wear one. You don’t have to.” I take the smaller ring out of the black box and slip it onto the ring finger of my left hand._

_It’s a plain platinum band that to the naked eye looks like nothing more than that, a plain platinum band. I carry the small box over to the bedroom and toss it into the top dresser drawer._

_Never to be seen again._

_Eight months later…_

_“What are you looking at?” I ask. He shuts the drawer and slides the tee shirt over his head._

_“Are we going out or not?”_

_Two months later…_

_I open the door and walk down the stairs, pausing on the outside of the building to wait for Brian. He flings the door open ten minutes later and I see the flash of something on his finger as he reaches into his pocket to grab his lighter._

_He holds the flame to his cigarette and I see the platinum band, wrapped snuggly around the middle finger of his right hand._

_I don’t say a thing.  
_   
His eyes follow mine and he lets go of my hand. He slides the ring off of his pinky and puts it back on my finger, and just like that… they go back to not existing. 

“The whole gang is out in the waiting room. They have been here since early this morning. Debbie got here first. It’s a wonder we got her to wait that long. They are all dying to see you. You’re mom’s been here.” He is talking enough for the both of us.

“Brian,” I say. Each word takes my breath away. He stops talking and looks at me. “Shut the fuck up.” He raises an eyebrow and looks at me.

“Twat,” he says and I smile, slightly. 

“I want to see Michael,” I tell him. He frowns and looks at me. 

“Michael?” I nod my head and he says ‘ok.’ He gives my hand a squeeze and walks out of the room. I let the air out of my lungs, slowly. I notice an oxygen mask sitting on my pillow, soft wisps of concentrated air still flowing freely.

The door cracks open and Michael walks inside, creeping slowly like he is walking through a minefield. I can’t stop the increased beat of my heart as he gets closer but I try my best not to show how uncomfortable I am. 

“Hey Justin,” Michael says. He walks closer and I tell him to stop. All of a sudden I can’t breathe. He stops where he is, afraid. “Do you want me to go?”

I shake my head ‘no.’ I need to talk to him. It’s important to me. It’s about Brian.  
 _  
“Do you tell him everything?” I ask as I color in the panels for the next chapter of Rage. Brian comes out of the bathroom and starts to get dressed._

_“He’s my best friend,” he says with a shrug._  
  
"I need you to do something for me." Michael moves closer the edge of the bed and waits for me to talk.


	5. Chapter 6

AN: Thank you to my lovely beta. You are the best babe.

* * *

Brian…

Half an hour goes by and I force myself to stay sitting in my chair, the same plastic chair that has bore the weight of my worries for the past few days. “It seems like longer. It seems like forever.”

“What?” Lindsay asks her attention brought to me by my whispered thoughts. I don’t answer her. I don’t even look at her. I am tired of talking, of explaining things to all of them. I want them all to go home, vanish… vaporize and turn into nothing but open space, and my too late realized, wishes of companionship. “Brian, did you say something?” 

I turn to her and force myself to smile, to comfort her. “No,” I tell her and turn my attention back to watching Justin’s door, waiting for Michael to emerge. I didn’t want to leave, but right now it is not about me, and I am glad… because none of them, my family, my friends, knows what to say.

Rape, can manage to take your breath away, leave you speechless.

I see the door to Justin’s room start to open and I sit up straight, debating whether or not to stand up. Michael comes out, closing the door behind him and all eyes are fixed on him. He smiles to the people around the hall before taking a step toward me. 

I am not going to ask him what Justin said to him. God I want to know.

Michael slides into the seat next to me and licks his lips. “He’s worried about you. He wanted to know when you had last eaten.” I give a small laugh, never looking at Michael. 

“Yeah, well, that’s Justin,” I say as I stand up and walk toward his door. I feel a hand land on my shoulder and turn to meet Michael’s eyes.

“He wants me to take you home and make sure you get some sleep and something to eat,” Michael tells me. Lindsay walks up beside him, the rest of the gang following her, closing in on the prey like vultures. 

“He’s right Brian, it might do you some good to go home and get cleaned up,” Lindsay says, her right hand clutching onto a used tissue like it is all that is holding her together.

“Yeah baby, you go on home, we’ll be here,” Debbie says, louder than she needs to. I turn from Michael and look over at her, past her, through her.

Ted and Emmett look on, all comments kept to themselves.  
 _  
I am tired of hearing about Justin. How he looked in the hospital bed, small and broken. I don’t want to have to face it again; the pain._

_The blood._

_I step out onto the back porch, my right hand shaking as I try to light my cigarette. I hear the back door open and slam shut. I already know who it is. “It’s cold out here,” Vic says as he pulls his jacket closed around him. “You know, my first roommate was robbed.”_

_I finally light the cigarette and watch, for just the briefest of seconds, as the tobacco and paper burn, sending tiny flecks of ash falling to the ground._

_“He was shot in the stomach and left to die. Everyone said he’d be fine, he’d be home soon….”_

_“And let me guess, he fully recovered, with you right there by his side every step of the way.” Vic looks at me and smiles, his eyes leaving mine to find the stars. I follow his gaze, staring into the moonless night._

_I blow a ring of smoke out into the air and take in a deep breath. “No, I never went to the hospital. He asked for me. He was my first roommate, but he was also my best friend, we’d known each other for years and when he needed me the most, I wasn’t there,” Vic tells me._

_He turns to look at me, the burning tobacco of my cigarette reflecting in his eyes._

_“Went out and fucked?” I ask with a tint if amusement and curiosity painting my words._

_“Sat at home, drinking, and thinking how much it was hurting **me** , how bad it was making **me** feel. I was scared….”_

_“To see him?”_

_“No, for him to see me,” Vic says, his hands letting his jacket go and finding their way into his pockets. I look at him, the burn of tears starting in the back of my throat, threatening to choke me. “He died, two days later, and I have never forgiven myself for not going to see him… for not being there.”_

_“It’s not like he knew if you were there or not,” I reason as I raise the cigarette to my lips again._

_Vic nods, his lungs taking in the dew from the air. “But I know.” He lets the silence fall between us, the only sound coming from the voices drifting through the house and out the back door.  
_  
“Thank you,” I say sarcastically, turning so that I can see everyone. “But the last time I checked I was a big boy. I can take care of myself. Thanks for coming, but, maybe you all should go home now. I’ll tell Justin you were here.” I close the door, not waiting to hear any arguments. 

I walk over to Justin and sit in the chair next to his bed. “You thought you were going to get rid of me. I thought you were supposed to be smart,” I say as I watch the plastic mask as it delivers oxygen directly into his lungs.

His eyes are closed. He is sleeping, and for the first time I cry, really cry. I close my eyes and wish for the impossible. Wish that when I open my eyes again… none of this, will be real. 

Justin moans in his sleep, his right arm moving painfully slow into a more comfortable position. The white bandages on his cuts, the stitches, the bruising all telling me that time is not going to roll backwards.

I hear words, whispered and low… trapped. I look at Justin and realize that the sounds are coming from him, held prisoner behind plastic and metal. “It’s okay,” I whisper as I cover his left hand with mine, wiping all evidence of my emotions away with my right.  
 __  
“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask as I open my eyes and squint against the light. Justin stares at me, his legs folded into a pretzel shape and his sketchpad and pencil held loosely in his hands.

_“Watching you dream,” he says softly, quietly, cryptically. I move my hand, searching for the warmth of his body underneath the royal blue sheets; a count so high it feels like sleeping on air._

_I look over at him, the sun lighting him up from behind, and for the briefest moment in time… I see inside of him. “I hate it when you watch me sleep. It’s fucking creepy.”_

_“I was not watching you sleep. I was watching you dream and from that most impressive boner you’re sporting, I’d say it was a pretty good one. Although at your age I am almost certain that you can’t remember,” he tells me as I push him backwards and lay my body down on top of his, his pencil getting lost between the sheets._

_“Not only can I remember it,” I say as my lips find his. “I can act it out, in 3-D.”_

_“I’m impressed.”  
_  
The time flies quickly, measured in half hours by the nurses that come in like clockwork. I fight off the urge to sleep as I sit in the chair. I hear the lock on the door click and I turn to see Jennifer standing there. She walks onto the room and stops at the foot of Justin’s bed. 

“The police are here, they want to talk to Justin. They are already talking to the doctor’s and nurses that were here when he came in,” she tells me.

I nod my head slowly and turn toward Justin. His eyes are open, pale blue, like ice water. I suppress the urge to shake the life back into him. He is looking, but not at me and I can feel the temperature of my blood changing, dropping. I move so that I am in his line of sight. 

I move slowly. 

“Justin,” I say. He shifts his eyes and looks at me. “The police are here. They want to talk to you about what happened.” A small frown passes over my face as he stares at me.

I get closer to him and touch his arm. “It’s better to get it over with, okay?” I stand up and tell Jennifer to tell the police to come in. 

**

Ronnie Jr. …

“Mr. Matthews,” Janna says as she stands in front of my desk holding onto her books, her portfolio draped purposefully across her torso, the portrait of a budding art student. I turn to her and smile, mask slipped firmly into place.

“What can I help you with Ms. Malone?” I ask as I turn back to my task, wiping the dry erase board clean of all written knowledge. She shifts on her feet, her sneakers catching on the linoleum. 

“Yeah, umm, well, the ‘Life is Art’ project that we have to do. I was, well, I was wondering if I could get an extension.” I put the eraser down and turn around to face her. She is standing with her books held tight to her chest and her left hand holding the strap of her brown leather portfolio.

“The due date is next week Ms Malone, you know that.” She releases the strap from her grasp and smoothes a hand over her hair, pushing a stray piece back into place. 

“I know,” she says as she starts to walk around the desk. I take the brief moment to take her all in. My eyes do a quick inventory of her body and I will my libido into submission. “But, I had some personal things that came up and….”

“And if I let you have an extension then I have to start giving them to everyone who needed one. I’m very sorry that you are having difficulty with the due date of the assignment, but I can’t give one person special treatment,” I tell her as I gather my things. 

“Mr. Matthews, if I fail your class I don’t graduate,” she tells me. I slip into my jacket and grab the handle of my own portfolio and tote bag.

“Then I suggest you do your best,” I tell her before leaving. I leave her standing in the middle of the room, tears falling silently from her eyes. 

I can taste her already.  
 _  
“Nothing tastes like tears,” my dad says and I cringe as I feel his heated tongue dampen the skin of my left cheek.  
_  
**

Justin…

I look at the detective, my eyes trained on the gold badge clipped so proudly to his belt. “Justin,” he says again, repeating his question. I can’t seem to get myself to focus. Everything seems foggy. “Had you ever seen your attacker before?” 

Brian is standing over by the window, his body glowing as the sunlight hits him, lighting up the prominent stubble on his face. I move my head left and right, telling him ‘no.’ 

My body hurts too much to talk right now. I can’t see his partner but I know he’s there, standing somewhere in the background taking notes. I can hear his pen as it scratches over the paper.

He asks me question after question and each time I move my head, just slightly, from side to side. No, I hadn’t seen him before. No, I don’t know who would have wanted to hurt me. He starts to ask me for details of the rape, and I involuntarily tense, lock up.

I feel like I’m suffocating. 

I move my good arm, searching frantically for the oxygen mask. “Justin, honey, what’s wrong?” I hear my mom ask. Brian turns around in all the commotion and I can see him walking toward me, moving past the officer and the detective. He takes the mask from me and puts it on my face, watching me closely as I take the air into my lungs.

My mom stands on my right side, concern on her face. I know she has to leave soon to make sure Molly is taken care of. “Okay, I think that’s enough,” Brian says. I let my eyes close as the detective and his partner ask Brian and my mom more questions as they walk toward the door. 

“I think we have all we need for right now. We have all your information, incase we need to contact you later,” Detective Ramirez tells me before turning his attention back to Brian. “We have released the property back into your possession,” he says. I hear papers being exchanged and then the door clicks into place.

“How are you feeling sweetie, better?” My mom asks. 

Brian walks in front of me, just in time to see the tears slip from my eyes. I can feel my body start to shake and my nerves tingle as they nervously scratch at the surface of my skin. 

She touches me, and when I flinch I can almost hear her heart break.  
 __  
“I don’t want you to walk me to the bus. I can do it all by myself,” I tell my mother, my eight year old voice protesting against her need to always be there, protect me.

_“Justin, you’re only eight years old,” she tells me as she hands me my lunch money and two extra pencils. I can never keep up with my pencils._

_“Eight is big enough,” I tell her, my hat pulled unceremoniously on my head. She takes a deep breath and looks down at me, her son, her baby._

_“Okay, okay, you can walk by yourself. But please, please be careful… and stay on the sidewalk.”_

_I can feel her eyes on me, the whole way to the bus stop.  
_   
I don’t have to look at her to know that there are tears falling from her eyes. “I have to go and check on Molly. I’ll… I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she says. She touches my shoulder, just barely, grabs her purse and leaves the room.  
 __  
Jennifer…

_“What’s wrong Jen?” Craig asks as he stands next to me, his travel cup filled with coffee held tightly in his right hand and his keys and briefcase clutched tightly in his left. He never misses a day of work._

_Any excuse, to be anywhere but here._

_“He doesn’t need me anymore,” I tell him as I watch Justin walk down the street, his book bag planted firmly on his back and his pencils in his hand. I make a mental note to buy more; that task, he still needs me for._

_“Is that all?” Craig asks as he walks past me, puts his briefcase on the hood of the car and unlocks the door. “Honestly Jen, if you don’t let the boy have some breathing room you’re gonna turn him into a little sissy.” He grabs his briefcase and gets in the car. I watch as he pulls out of the driveway._

_“I can’t help it, I love him,” I whisper to no one but myself._  
  
Justin…

Brian sits down and looks at me. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t talk, but, he holds my hand and waits with me as my body calms down. Yesterday I felt fine, almost normal. But, normal is too far away from me now. Normal is gone.

“Brian… Justin,” Dr. Salas calls as he comes in the door and closes it behind him. He stops at the side of the bed and looks at my charts. I move my head and look at him, the oxygen drying out my lips. “Well, it looks like you’re stable and because there was no severe damage cause by the stab wounds I think we can see about getting you out of here by tomorrow, at the latest.”

Dr. Salas puts down my charts and pulls on some gloves. He checks all of my wounds, the wires, the bandages, everything. “Everything looks good. When you go home you are going to be on a strict diet Justin, all of which will be liquid for the first few weeks or so until you get the wires taken off.” I shake my head and pull the mask off of my face. I take my time and adjust to the normal flow of air.

I take my time, my dry throat evident in my speech. “What about the… therapy?” Brian sits in the chair watching the doctor quietly, listening.

“It’s not going to be easy. The bone in your wrist was essentially snapped in half,” he tells me as he pulls off the gloves and uses his own his wrist to tell me exactly how my own wrist was affected. My immediate thoughts are about whether or not I’ll be able to give a decent hand job… hell, blowjob too.

My next thoughts are, ‘Fuck, how in the hell am I supposed to draw?’

“Will I… be able… to draw?” I ask. Brian reaches for the plastic water bottle that they have given me and helps me drink as I hold it with my good arm. “Thanks,” I say as I let my eyes take him in.

“I’m not going to lie to you Justin. Most patients with severe wrist injuries never regain the full mobility in their wrist and hand, but with the proper therapy and strength training you should at least be able to have about eighty to eighty-five percent mobility regained, and that’s being generous.”

I let the air fall out of me slowly as I fight to keep the tears inside. “We also recommend that rape victims see a counselor to….”

“No,” I say before he can finish.

“Justin, it might be a good idea to….”

I turn my head toward Brian and repeat what I told to the doctor. “No.” Dr. Salas moves closer to the bed and I turn my gaze to him. “I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t… okay.”

“Are you sure Justin? We can’t make you see someone but it is highly recommended.”

“I said… no.” Dr. Salas writes something down in my charts and I can only guess what it says. ‘Patient refuses to speak with rape counselor prior to release.’

“Okay,” Dr. Salas says as he gathers up his things. “A nurse is going to come in and finally help you get cleaned up. I know you’re ready for that, and then tomorrow we’ll go over everything and get you out of here. How’s that sound?”

“Good,” I say.

Dr. Salas walks out of the room and when the door clicks into place I let myself completely relax. The only person who does not make my nerves stand on end is Brian. I stare at the white wall in front of me and it seems to stretch on into forever. 

“You know, just because he says that you may never get all the strength back in your hand doesn’t make it true,” Brian tells me. I let out a small huff. “They said that once before.” I look at Brian and smile as best as I can, which isn’t much at all, as I feel a single tear roll down my cheek.

“Justin, do you want to talk about it?” I know he is asking because he wants to help me. I know he doesn’t really want to talk about feelings and shit, but he will, for me, he will.

He will alter his personality for me, because he loves me. I need that right now.


	6. Do Unto Others...

AN: Thank you very much to my beta. You’re awesome.

* * *

Justin…

My face twists in pain as the nurse holds onto my right arm. “I’m sorry if I’m hurting you,” she tells me as she squeezes out her cloth and starts to wipe the soap from my arm. I don’t say anything. The act of her having to help me is bad enough without the added humility of awkward, silence-filling speech. 

“You have really nice skin,” she says as she dries my arm and lays it down gently. 

I look down at my arm. I don’t see my skin. I see purple and black marks, contaminated with splotches of red; broken blood vessels that tried desperately to protest the strong fingers that held me in place. 

I close my eyes and turn my head as far away from her as possible. I can feel the cool material of the hospital gown leave my body and I start to shake. “Are you cold?” She asks me. I bite my lip as one tear escapes and runs for cover down my cheek. “We’re almost done.”

She removes the brace and starts to wash my torso; slow, gently moving circles.  
 _  
“Mmmm… hang in there for me. We’re almost done,” he says as he thrusts into me, pressing my chest into the floor. My eyes shoot open as he grips my arms tightly, deepening his thrusts._

_I can’t breathe.  
_  
“I can’t breathe,” I whisper. She stops washing and looks at me. 

“Did you say something?” I open my eyes and look at her. I want to get up and run from her compassion. I want her to hug me. I want her to leave me alone. 

“I can’t breathe. Can you… can you just, leave for a minute?” I ask as my breathing starts to get shallow. She hesitates, taking in my state.

“I don’t think I should….”

“GET OUT!” I scream as loud as I can with pieces of metal trying to force me into complacency. She grips the cloth tightly in her glove covered hands and smiles sadly as she backs out of the room. She must be used to getting yelled at.

I take deep breaths. In and out. In and out. 

The minutes tick by as I will my body to relax, calm down. I push the images out of my head, or at least try to. “Are you okay?” She asks as she walks back into the spacious bathroom. 

I nod my head. “A little,” I say as I look up at her. “I’m sorry.” She shakes her head and changes the water, making it hot again. 

“That’s okay,” she says as she finishes washing me. She dries me off and takes the plastic cover off of my wrist. “When you get home,” she says as she helps me back into the brace that holds my ribs in place, “you can just put a Ziploc, or plastic, bag over your wrist. Then you can take a real shower.”

“Is…”

“Brian back yet?” She finishes with a smile. “You have asked me that five times already,” she says as she helps me stand on my feet. I give her a small smile and tighten my grip on her arm as I stand up, the pain in my ass and back running up and down my body, making sure it is not forgotten. 

“He’s talking to Dr. Salas,” she tells me as she reaches behind her and grabs the clothes that Brian gave her. I didn’t even notice that she had them.

**

Brian…

I cross my arms over my chest and look at the floor as the doctor gives me instructions for Justin’s care, again. 

He stresses how important it is for Justin to get nutrients. He tells me how important it is that I try to get him to see someone. He tells me everything that he has told me, us, before. “I’m going to want to see him in a week,” he tells me. 

“Okay,” I say. I turn toward the bathroom as Justin is wheeled out. He smiles as he looks at me, the light behind it is not as bright. “Hey,” I say. 

“Hey,” he answers as he adjusts his right arm, just slightly. 

“Do you want to get back in the bed?” The nurse asks him. He shakes his head ‘no’. 

“No,” he says. “I want to go home.” 

Dr. Salas laughs and steps forward. “I bet you do,” he says as he looks over the discharge papers. He looks down at Justin and smiles. “I expect to see you back here in one week, okay?” Justin nods his head and I know he is not looking forward to coming back. 

Dr. Salas starts to hand the clipboard to Justin, stopping when he raises his right hand slightly. “Right-handed, remember?” A flash of sadness and embarrassment washes over Dr. Salas’ face as he turns to me and hands me the clipboard. I sign the discharge papers and rest my hands on my hips.

“You take care of yourself, okay?” Justin nods and Dr. Salas places his hand on Justin’s shoulder, smiling. He turns to me and shakes my hand. 

“Thanks,” I say as I shake his hand and motion over to Justin, “for everything.” He nods and leaves the room. I lean down and kiss Justin on the lips. He flinches slightly against my touch but I pretend not to notice. “Are you ready to get out of here?”

“Yeah,” he says. I kiss him again, on the top of the head and make sure that we have everything. The nurse wheels Justin through the hospital and outside for the first time in days. I can see the panicked look on his face as he watches all of the people walking around.

“Okay?” I ask, the sound of the automatic door and taxis drowning out my words. 

“Yeah, just… yeah, I’m fine,” he tells me as he tightens the jacket that I brought him around his body. 

“You sure?” He nods and I know he is telling himself the lie just as much as he is telling me. I give a half nod and let him keep up the charade. “Okay, I’ll be right back. I’m going to go and get the car.”

I leave him at the entrance to the hospital, waiting with the nurse. I reach the car and slide into the front seat, his front seat. I picked up his car, glad that he had wanted something big enough to tote his art. The Corvette is too small for injured persons  
 __  
“It’s big enough to carry all my stuff,” he tells me as he peeks into the windows of the spacious mini- SUV. The salesman walks over and smiles. He is all tooth and gums.

_“I notice that you’ve been looking at this one.” I smirk. Justin laughs and gives me a look telling me to cut the poor guy some slack. “Care to take it for a spin?”_

_“Yeah,” Justin says as he walks back over to me and bumps me playfully with his arm. He knows I don’t like the car, but he also knows that I promised to let him get the car that **he** liked.  
_   
“You drove my car,” he says as I pull up in front of him. I move the bag of medicine out of the front seat and put it in the back. 

“Yeah, I figured what the hell,” I say as I help him get into the car. He tosses the donut ring onto the front seat and sits down slowly. The nurse pulls the wheelchair back and gives a sad smile. 

“Thanks,” Justin says to the pretty young girl. She nods and waves.

“You’re welcome.” She disappears back inside of the hospital. There are people inside that still need her help. I close Justin’s door and walk around the car. 

“Ready?” I ask as I start the car and put it in drive. He leans his head back and closes his eyes.

“You have no idea.”

**

Justin…

The building looks the same. 

Brian opens my door and helps me out of the car. Every step is agony. “You can have something for the pain when we get upstairs,” Brian says as he grabs the bag of prescription drugs and closes both of the doors. He holds onto me, as tightly as he can and helps me into the building and into the loft. 

“I’m surprised that no one is here,” I say as Brian slides the door closed and sets the alarm. 

“I told them all to give you some breathing room, but I can call them if you want.” I look over at the serious look on his face and shake my head. 

“No.”

“What’s wrong sunshine? Afraid Debbie won’t ever leave?”

“Yeah, her and everyone else,” I tell him. He laughs and rolls his lips into his mouth. 

“Do you want to lie down or sit on the couch?” 

“Bed, my ribs and… umm, well, it just…..” Brian nods and the leather of his jacket crinkles as he adjusts his grip on me.

“I understand,” he tells me as he leads me to the bed and helps me lay down. He helps me take off my shoes and my jacket but I stop him as his fingers wrap around the top of my sweats. 

“Don’t,” I say, my voice cracking with the dryness in my throat. I watch the sadness flood his eyes and I feel like shit.

“Justin, I’m just trying to….” His voice is soft and calm. Not forced calm, but the calm that comes from genuine concern and exhaustion. 

“Brian, I….” He nods, he smiles and I know he understands. He moves away from the bed and takes off his jacket.

“Are you hungry? We have Boost, in every flavor available,” He says. I shake my head and close my eyes as I turn my head into the pillow. I soon feel myself falling into darkness and just like that… the world is gone.

**

Ronnie Jr. …  
 __  
Ten years old…

_I lean my back against the wall and swallow my cries as my tears flow from my eyes and soak into the sheets._

_I can hear the kids in the neighborhood, my friends, laughing and playing. “You’re just… just like your goddamned mother,” my father says, his words slurring as he fastens his jeans and pulls his shirt on. “I had to break her too, that cunt.”_

_He wipes the spit and blood from his mouth as he tries to button his shirt. He manages to get the shirt closed. The buttons don’t match the holes. I notice but I know better than to correct him._

_He grabs his beer and flings the door to my room open._

_I flinch as the knob connects with the wall behind it, adding another hole to the many holes and imperfections that already plague the house. I listen as he walks down the hall and collapses on his bed, the springs of the mattress squeaking as his breathing evens out._

_“Ronnie,” I hear Ryan whisper as he stands at the door to my room. He bites his bottom lip and walks over to the bed. “Are you okay?” I don’t say anything. He crawls into the bed next to me and I touch my forehead to his._

_My father has never touched Ryan. I direct all of his anger onto me._

_“Yeah, I’m okay.” Ryan closes his eyes and in seconds he is asleep. I watch the sun out of my window. I watch until it disappears and the moon takes its place, punching in its timecard and keeping watch over the night. I get up, groaning with the pain that shoots through my body._

_I walk into the bathroom and close the door. I turn on the light and take in my face; another black eye and busted lip. You can only have so many encounters with the ‘school bully’ before someone gets suspicious._

_I start to strip, tossing all the pieces of my suit on the floor in the bathroom. While everyone else was starting their day I was burying my mother, wishing that it was my father in the cheap pine box. He spared no expense._

_I walk over to the door and press my ear against the crack, listening for movement. Ryan is still sleeping. I move over to the toilet and slowly release my bladder. I close my eyes against the pain and flush the toilet._

_I turn on the shower and step inside, letting the water wash over me. I grab the soap and start to scrub. I scrub until my skin is cracked and bleeding. I scrub until I can’t cry anymore. I scrub until I can’t see the red and white streaks of color as they fall away from my body and mix with the water._

_My heart speeds up and my hands move frantically, spreading the soap all over. I swirl the suds into my mouth. The caustic, bitter taste hits the back of my throat and my stomach lets go. I drop to my knees as the acid comes up, choking me, telling the pipes my secrets._

_“Ronnie,” Ryan calls from the other side of the door. I force the bile back down into my stomach and straighten up. I swallow over and over. Stay down, please, stay down. “Ronnie?”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“I’m hungry,” he says hesitantly, his three year old voice trying to sound bigger than what it is. I pull myself together and turn off the water. I dry off and wrap the towel around my body as I open the door. Ryan is sitting on the floor in the middle of my room, his eyes red and his nose running._

_“What do you want to eat?” I ask as I pull on some clothes and a pair of sneakers. He jumps up off the floor, his overalls riding high. They are too small, but I can’t help that._

_“Pizza,” he shouts and I clamp my hand down over his mouth._

_“Shhhh, do you want to wake dad up?” I ask. Ryan shakes his head and I let go of his mouth, wiping the snot that got on my hand on the sheets. I go into the bathroom and grab a piece of toilet paper, wiping his nose. I grab onto his hand and head out of the bedroom, pausing to make sure I still hear my father’s drunken snores._

_I do._

_I walk into the kitchen and open the refrigerator. It’s empty. The only thing inside is beer, lots and lots of beer. I pull a chair over and open the cabinets._

_Empty._

_“There’s no food,” I say as I close the cabinet and climb down. Ryan looks up at me with tears in his eyes. “Don’t cry... we’re going to get something to eat. We’re going to get a pizza, the biggest pizza ever. You trust me, right?”_

_“Yeah.” I grab his hand and walk into my room. He stands watching me as I close my door and walk over to my toy box._

_I move the box away from the wall and pull the bottom piece of wood off of the old piece of furniture. Ryan takes a step forward and watches as I pull out a thin safe. I put in the combination and open the box. Mom saved money for me, lots of money. I take out a ten dollar bill and lock the box. “You can’t tell anyone, okay?” Ryan nods._

_“Okay, can we eat pizza now?” I nod my head ‘yes’ and go to order the pizza._

_**_

_Fifteen years old…_

_“Where’s your goddamn brother?” my dad asks. I put the dish I am drying away and look over at him._

_“What the fuck do you care?” I ask. My dad looks over at me and takes another drink of his beer. “It’s not like you have cared a whole hell of a lot what he’s been doing since about, hmm, I don’t know, the day he was fucking born.”_

_My dad stands up and makes a beeline for me. He reaches out to grab my neck and put me in a chokehold. I move out of his way and deliver one good punch to the side of his jaw. He hits the counter and falls to the ground._

_I watch the blood as it drains from a cut on his head. I finish the dishes and step over him. Fuck him._

_I slip into my jacket, grab my wallet and leave the house._

_**_

_I stumble back into the house around two in the morning, clutching at my stomach as it churns. I glance toward the kitchen on instinct. My father is not there._

_I take another step and as I start to pass Ryan’s room I glance toward his door. I see the gap in the door and the figures moving inside. I hear the sound of someone throwing up and my heart stops, my drug induced high leaving like the onset of a sudden storm._

_I push the door open all the way and my face goes pale._

_“Get off of him. Get off of him, you fucking asshole.” I rush at my father and try with all my might to pull him off of my baby brother. I can hear Ryan crying, screaming for me to help him, to make him stop._

_Ryan wasn’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t supposed to be home._

_I can’t pull him off. My brain is a frenzy of thoughts as my father thrusts, my brother screams and my heart breaks. I can’t feel anything._

_I see the arrow that my brother found on one of our many expeditions into the woods behind our house. I wrap my fingers around it and plunge it, with all the force inside of me, into the side of my father’s neck._

_He stops instantly and the blood flow is immediate._

_“FUCK… FUCK… SHIT!” my father screams. Ryan is on the bed, moaning, crying and bleeding. I want to move. I want to look away. I want to call someone. I want to do all the **right** things, but I don’t. I stand where I am as my father’s screams fill the house and die out. _

_I can hear the blood as it quickly fills his throat and chokes him, his screams halted by the grip death has on his soul._

_I stand there. I stand there… with the biggest fucking smile on my face._  
  
“So you see,” I say as the slideshow ends and I bring myself back to the present, “although some may regard the paintings, photographs, and drawings of people who killed to survive as barbaric… one may also argue that they served as a vital part in the structure of their respective societies, ensuring the survival of their people by getting rid of enemies and any others who threatened their family, their friends… and themselves.”

“They made their life art. That’s what I expect you to do,” I say.

I look at the time and take a deep breath as I turn to the board. “Don’t forget, you have your ‘Life is Art’ projects due in two days. Turn them in on time or not at all people.” I watch as they all leave the room, groaning and talking about their projects. 

I watch Ms. Malone as she walks out of the classroom and turns to the right. She has Honors Biology next. I know her schedule. I know her route. I look down at my watch and sigh. Michael has a game in forty-five minutes.

Perhaps another day.

**

Brian…

I pop the top on the can of Boost and walk into the bedroom. Justin is lying flat on his back with his eyes closed but I know he is not sleeping. “I brought you a strawberry one,” I say as I sit down on the bed next to him, careful not to move the bed too much. 

“I told you I wasn’t hungry.” I bite my lip and look over at him. 

“And I told you that you have to drink to take this shit that the doctor sent you home with,” I tell him as I stick a straw in the Boost and look at him. He opens his eyes and looks at me. 

“You taste it first,” he says as he moves to sit up. I tried to help him get up earlier to go to the bathroom and he freaked out. I push down all the signals in my brain that tell me to help him. He gets into a sitting position, giving me a ‘see, I told you I could do it’ look. 

I know better than to believe the magic act. I was never fooled by smoke and mirrors. 

I taste the Boost and frown as I pull the can away from my face and turn it around, reading the contents. “Ugh, taste like shit,” I say as I hand it over to him. “Bottoms up,” I say. He starts to drink the chalky substance and gives a small shrug.

“Hmm, it’s not too bad,” he says as he drinks some more of the supplement. I frown as I read the labels on his meds.

“Yeah well, I’m glad you like it,” I say as I start to crush the pills and drop them into the glass of water that I have sitting on the nightstand. Justin sits quietly next to me and I can hear the wheels in his head turning. “Save some room for dessert,” I tell him. 

“Mmm, I can hardly wait,” he says sarcastically. We get all the medicine down and I lean back against the headboard, my hand tracing patterns through his hair.

It’s quiet, too quiet.

“I couldn’t think,” he says softly as my hand stops moving. “My mind went completely blank. I couldn’t think of anything, not even you. It was almost like I was floating… watching it all happen to someone else. I could….”

I stop breathing as he pauses and looks at me. I can tell he wants me to hold him. But, I know how much he is hurting and I know how hard it is for him to let me get even **this** close. 

“I could hear my own screams. I was so fucking scared, so fucking scared,” he says as he starts to cry. I move over his body and lay on his left side, I take his good hand in mine and we intertwine our fingers together. I don’t know what to say, so I say the only thing I can.

“I’m here. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.” He sniffs and nods his head. He already knew that. There was no doubt in his mind.

“That Boost shit… has a nasty aftertaste,” he says with a sob filled laugh. I join him and we both laugh, really laugh for the first time since everything happened.

“You’ll get used to it,” I tell him after I am able to breathe again. He sighs as he catches his breath, wincing at the strain that the laughter put on his ribs.

“Oh God, I hope not,” he says as he holds his left hand to his torso and starts to laugh again. 

Nothing has ever sounded more beautiful.


	7. Do Unto Others...

AN: Thank you to my beta. Thank you all for reading and reviewing. I am going to start answering them, I am, LOL. Sorry for the long wait.

* * *

Justin…  
 _  
My hand makes contact with the side of his face and he laughs; a long, loud, hideous laugh that chills me to my bones. I feel his foot make contact with the inside of my thigh and I wonder, for just a moment, when was the last time I was in so much pain._

_I don’t have to wait long.  
_  
I don’t sleep. If the images are this vivid while I’m awake I can only imagine what would happen if I close my eyes and give my mind over to my dreams. 

I lay here, staring at the ceiling and listening to Brian as he breathes. I want him to wake up and wrap his arms around me, but I know that when he touches me my body will start to shake.

I hate that my skin crawls around him. I hate it even more that he notices. “Justin,” Brian says, shattering my silent world. I don’t want to hear anything. “Justin, are you awake?” He knows I’m awake. He doesn’t have to ask.

“I’m awake,” I say. I clear my throat and swallow. I have too much pride to ask for his help in sitting up, getting a drink. But, I can’t stop the tears that trail down my face as he sits up and reaches over me, grabbing the water bottle that’s sitting on my nightstand. I take a drink and swallow, my tongue touching the metal in my mouth. 

He didn’t have to ask.

“You should try and get some sleep,” he says as he runs his hand through my hair. I want to bite my lip, but I can’t. I can’t release the tension and apprehension that I feel coursing through me as his fingers graze my scalp. It comes in waves. I feel like I am on a boat with an ever-expanding hole. 

“I can’t sleep,” I say. I dare not look at him. I am afraid that if I do… I’ll drown. 

My heart is so loud in my ears I can barely hear the silence. “I lay here… in the dark… and I can see his face, everywhere,” I say. I bring my left hand up and wipe the tears from my eyes as I finally look over at Brian. 

“The fucked up thing is that I see his face… but really I don’t. I can’t explain it. It’s like this shroud of black where his face should be. I… I just know that if I go to sleep, if I close my eyes… then that blackness will expand. God, I know it sounds so pathetic,” I say as I cover my eyes with my forearm, the bandages that wrap my wrist tickling the bridge of my nose. 

**

Ronnie Jr. …

Perched in the heat of the setting sun, between her classes, I sit and wait for Janna to walk out of the door and into my web. I see the doors swing open and my heart beats with excitement as Janna walks out of the building and down the stairs. She is glancing all around her, hurrying from the building to her car. 

I love the safety conscious single female student.

I follow her movements, stepping behind tree after tree until I run out of cover. I step out of the shadows and latch onto her arm. She lets out a blood curdling scream before I have a chance to clamp my hand down over her mouth. I move her backwards, back into the shadows as I wait to see if anyone heard.

“Shhh,” I whisper into her ear, “I just want to talk to you.” She kicks and screams and fights. I like the ones that fight. Tonight should prove quite fun, at least for me.

**

Justin…

Brian can’t stay with me forever. I want him to go to work. I want to get back to normal.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Brian asks as he places his red silk tie around his neck and starts to tie it. I see a flash in my mind; images… clear as day, of a red piece of material, tight and constricting, cutting of my air supply.  
 _  
“Do you like a little asphyxiation?” he asks as he leans over me, his breath warm against my face, his fingers ghosting along my neck. I am too scared to move. I can feel my blood, warm as it falls from my mouth and around to the back of my neck, pooling onto the floor.  
_  
My legs shake as I stand up and walk over to Brian. “Justin?” He puts his hands out to try and touch me, stop me and see what’s wrong but I move my hands against his, fighting him off. My brain is on auto-pilot. I bring my hands up to his neck, frantically trying to undo the knot in the tie with one good hand and limited movement of the fingers on the other.

“Take it off,” I say. The words come out stunted, under my breath. “Take it off.” Tears start to fall as the knot loosens. Not fast enough. Not fast enough.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Brian asks. He doesn’t know what to do. He tries to stop me, to calm me down. “Justin, stop.”

“Take it off,” I say louder and this time the words catch his attention. “TAKE IT OFF!” I scream as loud as I can, my ribs aching at the effort it takes to breathe in that much air. His brain seems to stop for a second before he realizes what is going on. 

He moves his amble fingers over the knot, undoing it the rest of the way and pulling the offending material from his neck and dropping it to the floor. 

“It’s off… it’s off,” he says as he takes in a deep breath. I can practically hear his heart beating in his chest as I stare into him. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. His left is still suspended in the air, in the same position as when he dropped the material on the floor.   
_  
I gasp for air as he pulls the material from around my neck while he continues to thrust into me. “You like that? Huh? You’re so cold now. Your lips are so cold, blue… like ice.” He presses his lips to mine and runs his hand down my face, smearing blood down my torso.  
_  
I feel my breathing as it starts to come in short bursts. I close my eyes as the world starts to spin around me. I hear Brian’s footsteps as they quickly walk away from me. The seconds seem to tick by like years before he comes back. I can smell the paper bag as it slips over my mouth and nose. 

“You’re okay, just breathe. Breathe,” he says as he holds the paper bag over my airway. The fingers of my left hand grip his right as I take deep breaths and try to overcome the panic attack. I look up into his eyes as my heart finally starts to slow. 

**

Brian…

“I’m staying here,” I say as I look at Justin, his chest slowing to a normal pace. He starts to shake his head as his hand leaves mine and starts to push against my chest. “Justin, I’m staying _here_.” I don’t give him room for argument. My decision is final.

He takes the paper bag in his hand and moves away from me, inching slowly toward the bathroom. I take a step toward him but he puts his hand up, stopping me. 

“I’m fine… I’m fine. I just… give me a minute,” he says into the bag, his breathing labored, as he moves into the bathroom and closes the door behind him, turning the lock.

I turn away from the bathroom door and pick up the tie off the floor. I don’t bother putting it back in the closet as I head to the trashcan and toss the tie inside. I walk back into the bedroom and take off the suit, slipping on a pair of jeans and a white tee shirt. I stop in front of the bathroom and listen for movement. I don’t hear anything. 

I pick up the phone and head toward the computer. “Cynthia, it’s Brian,” I say as I sit down at the computer and turn it on. 

“Brian, hey, how is Justin?” She asks. I fill her in on everything, telling her that I am not going to be coming in after all. I don’t give her a reason why. “I understand, Brian. We have it all under control here.”

“Thanks. Make sure Ted gets the figures for the next wave of the Mitchell campaign,” I say as I open my email and glance toward the bathroom. 

“You got it,” Cynthia says. We finalize a few more things, all of them less important than they were a week ago, before hanging up. Justin is still in the bathroom and I am starting to get worried. 

**

Justin…

I stand in front of the mirror telling myself that I’m fine. I am fine. The bruises on my body are fading slowly. Soon you won’t be able to tell that anything ever happened. Well, I’ll look a little better anyway. I lower myself to the floor and pull a towel from the shelf, placing it on the floor before sitting completely down. 

I painfully pull my legs up to my chest and wrap my arms around them. I am so sore and every movement I make only makes the feeling more prominent. I can hear Brian as he moves around the loft and I close my eyes. “I shouldn’t have let him in the door,” I whisper to myself as I lower my face to the cool tile. 

I do my best to ignore the aches in my body as they protest the uncomfortable position. “I knew better,” I say to the air as my tears slip onto the floor and soak my cheek.   
_  
“Cry for me… cry for me. Scream. I like it when they scream,” he says, his fingers rough and prodding.  
_  
I cover my mouth with my left hand as the tears come hard and fast. I shut my eyes. I can smell him and the bile starts to rise in my throat. I am forced to swallow the acids, not wanting to deal with the feelings that having to ask for help will bring if I allow my stomach to release its contents.

My eyes close and for the first time in what feels like forever, without drugs, I feel myself start to fall asleep. I curl my body into the smallest ball possible and go to sleep, fearing my subconscious. 

**

Brian…

He’s been in the bathroom for hours and I am starting to get worried. 

He has to take his medicine. He has to eat… or, well, drink something. I walk over to the bathroom door and knock. “Justin, you have to come out the bathroom. You have to take your meds and eat something, not to mention I have to piss,” I say as I wait for some sort of answer. 

“Justin?” I tap on the door again. I don’t hear any movement and I start to get worried. Thoughts of razor blades, glass, towels… anything that can be used to inflict bodily harm run through my mind. I turn from the door and try to remember where I put the fucking key. 

My eyes settle on the nightstand and I surge forward, pulling the drawer open. I rummage through the drawer, searching for the key. My fingers feel the grooves of the key and I clutch it tightly in my hand as I turn back toward the bathroom. “This better be the fucking key,” I say as I put the key in the lock. 

I hear a click as the lock turns. I slide the door open and my eyes search the room for Justin. He is on the floor, balled up, shaking and sound asleep. I walk over and kneel down in front of him. I scoop him up in my arms, trying hard not to jostle him. 

“You’re losing weight already. I can tell,” I say to him. 

I lay him on the bed and cover him with the duvet. He is still dressed in the sweats he wore home from the hospital two days ago. He refuses to take them off. He refuses to get undressed at all. The only time he does is when I have to look at the stitches. “I’m cold,” he mutters as his body shakes under the duvet. 

“Okay,” I say as I turn around and open the closet, reaching up to get an extra blanket. I open the blanket and cover him with it. I wait until he goes back to sleep before getting up and going to use the bathroom. 

**

Justin…

I open my eyes and blink a few times. Brian is sitting next to me, his hand on my shoulder, paused in mid-shake. “Brian, leave me alone,” I say groggily. His lips curl into a smirk as he holds a glass of water in my face. I sit up with his help and press the straw to my lips, drinking down the cloudy liquid. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks. I know how hard it is for him to suspend his life and take care of me. I look at his leg. I stare into it as I think about what he asked me. He is holding another can of Boost and I inwardly cringe at the thought of the aftertaste. 

“No,” I whisper as I move away from him and close my eyes. 

I hear him sigh as the bed shifts with his movements. “Justin, you have to eat.”

“I’m not hungry,” I tell him as the pain meds start to kick in. He puts the can down and I close my eyes, knowing that we have to tend to my stitches and other bandages. The thought of him looking at me, touching me, down there… makes me want to disappear. The past two days I have tried to escape into myself when the time comes to clean the wounds.

I close my eyes and try to not feel. 

“Debbie called while you were in the bathroom and so did your mother,” he says as he puts the things away and goes to wash his hands. I know he is trying to keep the conversation going, to fill the air. “They want to come and see you. You’re fucking lucky they didn’t just show up.” He comes back into the room and looks down at me.

I open my eyes and look up at him. “I don’t want to see anyone right now,” I say as I close my eyes again. He climbs onto the bed and lies with his face in front of mine. 

“Justin, they care about you. They want to see you.”

“I _don’t_ want to _see_ anyone right now,” I repeat. “I barely feel comfortable around you… and… and that feeling comes and goes. Just, just tell them that I love them but I just want to be left alone.”

Brian doesn’t say anything as he looks at me. “Okay. Whatever you say sunshine,” he says as he presses a kiss to my cheek, ignoring my shudder. “I’ll tell them, but don’t expect them to listen.”

He gets off the bed and I pull the duvet and the extra cover up and over my head, making myself a cocoon. 

**

Ronnie Jr. …   
__  
Seventeen years old…

_“Yeah… oh God yeah… fuck, you are one tight piece of ass,” he says as he fucks me, my face slamming into the brick wall of one of the buildings that makes this alley possible. He pulls all the way out, letting my body slip to the ground below._

_I takes shallow breaths as the dull ache shoots through my body and my legs fight off the numbness that threatens to settle in. He leans over me and starts to spit on my face, my chest, my stomach. “Don’t get too comfortable… I’m not finished with you yet,” he says. “I paid top dollar and I plan to get _all_ my moneys worth.” _

_He slicks his fingers with the spit and starts to spread it on his dick. I close my eyes as his body presses down on mine._  
  
I lick her stomach, relishing in the fear that sends ripples across the taunt flesh. “You are very pretty, do you know that?” I ask as tears fall from her eyes. Her wrists are red and irritated under the duck tape, the color reminding me that I need to go to the art supply store. I’m all out of red.

She whimpers in protest, the metallic tape covering her cries as I slip the red scarf around her neck. Keep breathing. 

**

I watch Justin as he lies in the bed, nothing more than a lump. 

He hasn’t eaten anything in a day and a half. We are going to try the separation thing again tomorrow. Maybe I’ll go by the art supply store and pick him up some sketchpads and pencils. He can’t do too much with his right hand right now, but he is ambidextrous. He can build up the strength in his left.

I shut off the computer and turn off the lights as I walk to the bedroom. I climb into bed and lay on my side almost at the edge. I smile a little when I feel Justin move a little closer.


	8. Do Unto Others...

AN: Big thanks to my beta. I love ya. Thank you all for the reviews. They mean a lot to me. I will try and get the next chapter out faster.

* * *

And travellers now within that valley,   
Through the red-litten windows, see   
Vast forms that move fantastically   
To a discordant melody;   
While, like a rapid ghastly river,   
Through the pale door,   
A hideous throng rush out forever,   
And laugh --but smile no more.*

**

Janna Monroe…

I watch my mother as she climbs the stairs of the Pittsburgh Police Department. She walks through the doors and her steps are even and full of purpose. “Excuse me officer,” she says, her voice full of demanded respect. 

“How may I help you?” He asks without looking up from his paperwork. 

My mother blinks her eyes, not content with the greeting that she receives from the officer. She slams her purse down on his desk, leather Prada burning into wood, demanding attention. 

He looks over at her, his expression career hardened and impatient. “You can start… officer, by showing me the least bit of courtesy,” she says, never one to be looked down on. She has worked too hard to be lessened by anyone. “My daughter is missing. She never came home yesterday and I am starting to worry.”

“You have to wait at least forty eight hours before filing a missing persons report,” the officer says calmly, his face less hard as he watches my mother wring her hands, nervousness playing just below her calm exterior. 

“Two days? Look officer,” she says as she leans on the desk. My mother never leans. I push the hair from my face and move closer to her. I can smell her perfume. I reach out to touch her and I feel nothing but emptiness. 

I watch as she shivers and looks directly over at me, through me, before turning back to face the officer. “She has two little girls, both under the age of three. She wouldn’t just leave them, I know she wouldn’t. Could you please, please wave the rules? Please,” she pleads.

Images of the Grinch’s heart growing three sizes enter my brain as the officer lets out an even sigh and gets up from his stool. He walks over to a filing cabinet and pulls out the necessary forms. 

“Fill these out. Try to be as accurate as possible and as detailed as possible,” he says with a small smile. My mother takes them in her hand and smiles lightly.

“Thank you,” she says before moving to one of the black department chairs to fill out the papers. 

“It’s too late,” I say softly. “Make sure you tell Abby and Sam that their mommy loves them… very, very much.” Tears fill my eyes and I wipe them away. I lean over and kiss her on the cheek and then… I am gone. 

**

Detective Jorge Ramirez…  
 _  
It is a beautiful day. That is the first thing that floods into my brain._

_I walk past the many police cruisers. The lights on some are idle, others are swirling, red and blue lights announcing their presence. His hand is outstretched before I even reach the yellow tape, stopping me. “I’m sorry, Jorge, I really am,” Captain Kansan tells me as he keeps me from crossing the tape._

_My heart is beating fast, so fast._

_I shift my eyes away from Donald’s; my captain, my friend. For over thirteen years I have worked under him. My eyes move over to the group of officers gathered by the bank of trees at the edge of the secluded park._

_I see the small white shoe, the tan leg, the bloodied sock… and then they’re gone, covered with nothing more than a white sheet and lost hopes._

_I don’t cry._

_I need time to process the information. My son… my only son… dead… killed… not coming back… murdered. I don’t cry. I can feel my insides as they try to turn in on themselves and destroy me. I don’t cry. “He was only six years old,” is the only thing I say and it comes out as a whisper.  
_  
I can never forget the first time I smelt decaying human flesh. It embedded itself in my memory. I’ll keep it there forever. I have no desire to lose it. It keeps me human.

“Where did you find the body?” I ask as we pass under the yellow crime scene tape. Josh points over to the far corner of the alleyway. 

We walk over the trash, dirt, grime and debris, coming to a stop in front of the decomposing body of what appears to have been a young woman, hidden by the three large dumpsters that stand proud against the brick wall of the local convenience store. “Shit,” I say under my breath. 

“One of the tenants in the next building over spotted a dog having at her leg when he was tossing out his trash,” he says as he points at her left leg, the flesh rotting, broken and torn. Bodily fluids, long ago fresh, paint the ground and taint the air.

“Have you moved anything?”

“No, we were waiting for you,” Josh tells me. I nod my head as I lean over the body, trying to get a good look at her face. “The coroner is on the way.”

I sigh. We have been looking for this girl for the past eight weeks. “Make sure all the evidence is collected. I want no mistakes on this,” I say to Josh as we walk out of the alley, passing other officers. 

I pause at the crime scene tape, ignoring the questions that come from the people on the street. “You got it boss, anything else?”

“A fucking _strong_ cup of coffee,” I say. Josh nods and goes to make sure all my orders get followed. I rest my hands on my hips and look up at the sky. 

God, it is a beautiful day.

**

Brian…

He is sitting on the sofa. I am sitting on the floor. The closer he lets me get to him the further away he pushes me. I shift slightly, getting more comfortable before leaning back against the sofa, assuming my previous position.

“This is stupid,” Justin says as he holds the weighted ball in his left hand, his fingers barely gripping the inexpensive therapy tool. “It’s not even helping.”

“Maybe it would if you would actually start _doing_ something,” I say as I sit across the room from him, my arms resting on my raised knees. He locks eyes with me and flexes the fingers on his right hand. 

The doctors took his pins and plates out and replaced them with a soft cast. They offered him any color he wanted. He chose black. It shouldn’t have worried me. Black was the wise choice, the sensible choice. Black wasn’t Justin. I started to watch him closer then. 

“I am,” he says as he wipes invisible strands of blond hair from his face. I look at him, stare into him… and wait. 

He hasn’t been sleeping and he is easily frustrated. His cheeks are sunken from the liquid diet that he now more than hates. The aftermath of his rape is starting to wear on both of us and I wonder who is going to break first.

“All you have been doing for the past twenty minutes is complaining. If you want to get your wrist back to one hundred percent then you are going to have to work more than just your jaw muscles.”

Here it comes. All the anger, pain and fury just discovered that the gate was never locked. “Fuck you,” he says and I catch tiny slivers of silver as his mouth opens slightly. “You have no idea how hard this is for me.”  
 __  
“You have no idea how hard this is for me,” he says to me and my stomach clenches. The hair that the doctors had to shave away is starting to grow back. You wouldn’t know that… unless you **knew** him, really knew him. 

_“I know,” I whisper as I pull him close, my lips grazing the soft hair at his temple. He holds onto my hips, keeping himself steady. I place a kiss to his cheek, his lashes brushing against my heated skin._

_“You have no idea,” he says as his hands move, circle around my waist and pull me close. I can feel him trying to crawl inside of me._

_He is right. I have no idea how hard it is for him to start all over again. I have no idea how much he wishes sometimes he would have died. I have no idea what the air sounded like as the bat sliced through it before connecting with flesh covered bone._

_I have no idea.  
_  
“You’re right, I don’t,” I say, my voice calm and even. “But the same goes for you,” I toss back at him. In his anger and frustration he squeezes the ball, over and over, milking it for calm. He looks at me, his eyes already ready to cry. “You think you’re the only one dealing with this?”

He doesn’t speak. I don’t want him to speak. 

I stand up from the floor and smooth my jeans out as I walk over to the liquor cart. I pick up a glass and my old friend Jim. He sighs and sits back on the sofa, his arms crossed over his chest. He still wears the brace; the doctor says that he can start to wear it less in about a week.

I sit on the other side of the sofa, facing him, an old fashioned stand off. I pull my gun first, taking one shot. 

“You won’t let me touch you… get close to you,” I say. He winces and his skin flushes and floods again, red mapping its way across his features. A single tear breaks through his barrier and falls from his eye. 

“I just can’t,” he says. I press the cool glass to my lips and let the burning liquid burn its way inside my blood stream. 

“And have I asked you to? Have I pushed you, rushed you?” He shakes his head no. He won’t look at me. “You won’t talk to me. I know you don’t sleep at night. I know you lay there, awake and crying. I can feel the bed shake.” 

He always wants to air out the laundry. Well, here is it… the lights and the darks.

He stays like he is, tears running down his face and arms crossed. Save for the few things he told me right after he got out the hospital he hasn’t said anything else. “I can’t talk about it,” he says as his eyes suddenly find the window behind me so interesting. 

“Yes you can.”

“I don’t want to,” he says as he finally looks at me. He drops the ball, no longer content with the tiny distraction. The discussion is not going away. If I back down now he’ll never crawl back. The mud will be too thick.

I press forward. I am terrified of what will happen if I decide to stop moving.

“With me,” I say. He looks at me confused. “You don’t want to… with me?” He doesn’t answer me. I know the answer already. I pour another drink and get up. I close the distance between us. He can’t disguise the hitch that catches on his breath as my heat bounces off of him. 

**

Justin…

“I don’t want to at all,” I say as he moves his leg, grazing against my foot with the movement. I push him away and I pull him back and I know that there is only so many times that you can push and pull a person before enough is enough. He knows it too and he pushes back. 

“If you don’t want to talk to me then I think you should….” 

“I’m not going to see some waste of time shrink, Brian,” I tell him. He stares at me and drinks the last of his drink. He puts the glass down on the coffee table. The residual clatter of the glass tabletop in the silent room rides the lump in my throat. 

I stand up. 

The pain in my chest has reduced with the passing of time. I move away from the couch, the soft cast on my arm causing a rustling as it clashes with my pants. “Where are you going?” He asks. I stop walking and turn toward him. 

“I’m tired. I’m going to bed,” I say. I want to sleep until the scene changes. I don’t want to think about this. I don’t want to travel down this road. So many people have been here before but the path is fresh to me. There are no visible footprints to follow.

He is off the couch in seconds, crossing the floor with elegant steps until he is blocking the way. “Brian, move,” I say. He stays where he is. “Brian, move out of my way.”

“No, I want you to talk to me,” he says. I scoff, and pivot on my feet, walking to the other door. He follows my every step, blocking my way when I reach the other side. “You always want me to talk to you, well, now it’s your turn. Talk to me.”

“What do you want me to say?” I ask. He doesn’t have a degree in psychology. He isn’t a specialist. He has no idea what opening all of the flood gates will do but he takes his chances. 

“I want you to say it out loud. I want you to say the word.” I shake my head. My heart is beating so fast that I can hardly breathe. “Say it,” he presses. I shake my head no again. “Why not?”

“Saying it,” I say as I pause and let the tears fall from my eyes, “Saying it… makes it real. If I say it out loud then it’s not just a dream,” I say shakily. It makes no sense and to me is the only thing that is keeping me sane. 

“Justin,” he says as he takes a step toward me. I look at him, his arms open. He is not the enemy. I let his arms wrap around me and I bury my face in his tee shirt clad chest, holding onto him as tightly as I can. 

“He raped me,” I whisper, the cotton eating the words and soaking up the tears. “He raped me,” I repeat and I tighten my grip on Brian, my legs giving out as I cry. He moves us back, up the stairs and onto the bed. 

**

Ronnie Jr. …

“Wow Ron, I know you’ve got to be proud of Mike,” Mitchell says as he clamps his hand down on my shoulder. I have never liked Mitchell. He lets his dog shit in my yard. I don’t like Mitchell or his goddamn dog. “He is one of the best on the team.” 

I smile and adjust Emily on my lap, her ten month old giggles filling the air as we sit on the bleachers watching Mike’s soccer game. “Yeah, I am,” I say. I look down at my wife, cheering along with all the other soccer moms.

Mitchell keeps talking, his hand touching my arm, leg or shoulder with every enhanced emotion.  
 __  
“You’re sitting in my fucking seat,” a voice tells me as a heated hand is placed on my shoulder. I grab it immediately, twisting the wrist as I stand up facing the older, taller boy. I back him up against the wall as I continue to apply pressure to his pleading wrist. “Let me go you fucking piece of shit.”

_I increase the pressure until I hear the familiar pop as bone rubs against bone. He screams out in pain. No one comes to see what the problem is. There are too many kids, not enough adults and a seemingly private conversation going on between two boys._

_I press my face to his, our noses touching as exhaled breaths struggles to escape us both. My voice is low, menacing and lethal as I press my cheek to his._

_“If you ever put your hands on me again your wrist won’t be the only thing I break,” I say into his ear. I release his wrist and walk away, ignoring his threats.  
_  
“Daddy,” Mitchell’s kid calls. I take his distraction as an opportunity to move over. I reach down to slide Emily’s bag over next to me and I see it, red, glowing, telling and there. I pull out a diaper wipe and bend over to get the blood off my shoe. 

It is old blood and as I wipe it off images of that night flash in my head. I feel my cock start to stir as the referee blows the whistle, starting the game. “Go Mike!” I scream out, a smile planted firmly on my face.

**

Justin…

I let my hand run shakily over Brian’s hair. 

He is sleeping soundly, his head on my pillow. He held me as I cried myself to sleep and now I am staring over at him after sleeping more than I have in the past two months. He starts to stir and I remove my hand. “I knew you were up,” he says as he opens his eyes and looks at me. 

“Yeah, how’d you know that?” I ask, dried tears playing on my face. 

He shrugs as he sits up. “Some things sunshine, are simply unexplainable,” he says as he leans over to kiss my cheek. I swallow my fears and place my left hand on the side of his face, guiding his lips to mine. The kiss is long, deep and needed. 

We pull apart and he leans his forehead onto mine as he looks into my eyes. “I love you. You know that, right?”

I smile at him, the metal in my mouth muting it slightly. “I never had a doubt,” I say as he gets up and walks into the bathroom.

**

Brian…

“Do you know what he needs?” I look at the salesman like he has an extra cock coming out the side of his neck. 

“He needs everything, but let’s just start with the basics,” I say as we walk through the aisles of Justin’s favorite art supply store. 

“Okay,” he says as we start to make a list of all the things that I want so that they can be delivered. 

We walk back over to the counter after racking up what looks to be a fairly big bill. “Is that going to be all for you?” He asks as he starts to scan the items into the system. I look around the store and then back at the list that we have made. 

“Yeah,” I say as I reach for my wallet. 

“You might want to get some fans and mops. I find that you can never have enough mops, they are my absolute favorite and they work well with any style or surface. I think that Siberian Squirrel is one of the best, but I could be biased,” the man next to me says with a slight laugh. I turn to him, eyebrow raised and frown planted firmly on my face.

“They’re a type of brush,” he says as if it was common knowledge. Perhaps amongst the people who frequent here it is but I am just a visitor. “You must not be the artist in the family.”

“Gee, how’d you guess?” I ask as the man behind the counter tells me my total. I hand him my card and wait as he swipes it and hands it back. 

“Well, whoever you’re buying all the supplies for is one lucky woman,” the man next to me says. 

I stick my tongue into my cheek and wait for patience to fall over me. “Yeah, I’ll be sure to tell him you think so,” I say as I leave the store. 

**

Ronnie Jr. …

“Friendly guy,” I say sarcastically as I hand my things to Pete. He rings them up as I look through the sample paints on the rack next to the register.

“Yeah, well, you wouldn’t be too cheerful if your partner was raped and almost killed either Ron,” Pete says as he tells me my total. 

I pull the cash from my wallet and start to count out the needed bills. “No, no I guess I wouldn’t be,” I say as I hand the money to Pete. 

“Although to be perfectly honest, every time I’ve seen Brian in here he has acted the same.” I nod my head as I process the little bit of information.

** 

Justin…

“Oh sunshine, how are you feeling?” Debbie asks as I open the door and she wraps her arms around me. My heart speeds up and I do my best to cover the change in tempo. 

“Careful Deb,” I say before she has a chance to tighten her grip. She releases me like my body is on fire and I am rejoiced and saddened all in one. 

“Oh shit, I’m sorry,” she says. 

“It’s okay,” I tell her as my mother leans forward and kisses me lightly on the cheek. She moves away as quickly as she came forward telling me with her eyes that she understands, no matter how sad it might make her. 

I move back and let them into the loft. I brace myself for the visit that I have managed to put off for longer than I ever thought humanly possible.

**

Justin…

“That’s the fifth time that you’ve listened to that song, Justin,” Brian says as he moves into the bedroom and starts to strip out of his clothes.

“I like it,” I say as I start to turn it up.

“It’s fucking depressing,” he says as he moves into the bathroom. I ignore him and turn the volume up until it swallows the atmosphere.

I can faintly hear the water running in the shower as I stare at the blank canvas that is set up in front of me. I press my back further into the couch as I flex my fingers around the exercise ball.   
_  
“What about his art?” Brian asks the doctor. I let out a sigh but refuse to say anything. “When do you think he’ll be able to get started again?” Dr. Salas looks at me and then back at Brian._

_“Provided he takes it easy I have no problem with him starting to get back into his art,” he says. Brian doesn’t say anything. He just nods as he files the information away.  
_  
There are bags and bags of supplies littering the floor in front of the computer desk and coffee table. I look at the sets of brushes that he bought.  
 _  
All around me are familiar faces  
Worn out places, worn out faces  
Bright and early for their daily races  
Going nowhere, going nowhere  
Their tears are filling up their glasses  
No expression, no expression  
Hide my head I want to drown my sorrow  
No tomorrow, no tomorrow  
_  
I lean forward and unlock the latch on the art kit that he bought. 

The supplies are new, the paint is new and the canvas is new. Bone white surface waiting to be manipulated, ruined with colors and purposeful imperfections. I put the ball down and pick up one of the brushes, fanning the bristles with the fingers of my left hand. 

I don’t want to paint. I can’t. I am afraid to let my emotions fly freely. I am afraid that if I release them without any stipulation or restraint they’ll destroy me.   
_  
And I find it kinda funny  
I find it kinda sad  
The dreams in which I'm dying  
Are the best I've ever had  
I find it hard to tell you  
I find it hard to take  
When people run in circles  
It's a very, very mad world mad world  
_  
“Are you going to sit there and stare or are you actually going to paint something?” Brian asks as he grabs the remote for the stereo and turns off the stereo. I didn’t hear him come out of the bathroom and I drop the brush to the floor, listening as it clatters to a standstill.

He leans over and picks it up, leaving freethinking drops of water to fall to the hardwood. “No,” I say. He walks away from me and I hear his movements as they start to climb the stairs. 

“No, you’re not going to just sit there and stare or no you aren’t going to paint anything?” He asks as he slides into some jeans and walks back down the stairs and into the kitchen. He pulls out a bottle of water and twists the top, taking a long drink. 

“No, I’m not going to paint anything,” I say with conviction as I lean forward and place the brush on the table. He watches my movements as I watch the brush, a million thoughts fogging up my mind.  
 _  
Silence rings loudly in my ears as I watch my blood drip with indignation down the surface of my canvas. I can feel the sweat from his hair as it burns into the skin on my back._

_They are polar opposites, both symbols of life and death, both capable of more than what is first presented. Blood and Sweat; friends to the end._  
  
I get up from the couch, keeping my eyes locked on the canvas. “Thank you for the supplies,” I say, “But, I’m not ready yet.” I walk into the bathroom and shut the door behind me.

**

Brian…

“Fuck,” I say to the open air as I pick up the brush he left abandoned on the table. I toss the brush back on the table and walk over to the kitchen. I’m going to need something stronger than water.

* * *

Song is “Mad World” by Gary Jules  
*Excerpt is from The Fall of The House of Usher by Edgar Allen Poe


	9. Do Unto Others...

AN: Many thanks to Carly, my wonderful beta who spit this right back to me. You fucking ROCK! 

Thank you to everyone for all the reviews. I appreciate every single one of them. And thank you to everyone who voted for the story for Fic of the Month.

* * *

Justin…

I can taste the silence in the loft, cooled air tainted with the metallic sting of metal. I sigh, moving my left arm and resting it over my eyes.

One beat…

Two…

Four…

Twenty…

Forty-five… and counting…

I count the beats of my own heart. Don’t stop, please don’t stop.  
 _  
Brian’s hands on my back. Warm hands pressing into polished marble. His knee pushes on my thigh, pushing it up, making a space for him, only him._

_I moan, filling the loft with lust and heat._  
 **  
“You’re so smooth.” I turn my head to the right, staring into the sun. It’s blinding. Rough hands touch my skin, my thighs, me. My foot slips on the hardwood. I don’t move it on purpose but I pay for it anyway.**

_**Coffee kissed teeth on petrified flesh, marking territory that is already claimed.** _

__**I can’t see.  
**  
I slide the condom on, my fingers tracing a path along the rigid member. I have not yet perfected the act of patience. “Fuck me,” I say through clenched teeth. 

_Brian wastes no time._

_He presses into me, forcing air into my lungs and a ringing into my ears. His hands find their way from around my body and into my hair, long locks of blond. I feel his grunts and moans as he fills me completely, leaving promptly only to return again._

_I close my eyes._

_I bite the flesh of his ear, worrying it between my teeth, sharing my pleasure with him. “Oh God Brian,” I moan. I don’t recognize my own voice. I open my eyes and stare into him. His top lip is edged in sweat. I lick my own lips before pulling him close and covering his mouth with mine._

_His tongue snakes into my mouth and I welcome its warmth._  
 **  
His hand leaves a mark on the side of my face that burns as hot as ice that’s been left too long against the skin. “Now see, why would you try and bite me?” He presses his hand firmly into the flesh of my neck, pinning me to the wall and pressing his thumb into my jaw, forcing me to look at him.**

_**My hands are wrapped around his wrist, trying to even out the pressure, push some of it back toward him. “You know,” he says as he steps closer to me, “I am starting to get the feeling that you don’t like me very much.”** _

_**‘I don’t like you,’ I think and even my thoughts are whispering, afraid of being heard. “Fuck… you.”** _

_**I can feel the vessels in my neck struggle as he lifts me slightly off the ground. My feet stand on end, waiting to lose all contact with the floor.** _

__**The edges of my vision cloud over and before I know it, it all disappears.  
**  
I follow Brian into the darkness, blindly. Bright strips of pleasure and exhaustion paint a trail into the deepest section of oblivion and inebriation. He collapses on top of me, his nose pressing secretly into the crook of my neck. 

_I let my eyes roll open, washed in the drunken euphoria of a thousand shots of ecstasy. My foot slips away from him as we both catch our breath. He lets out a great rush of air and rolls away from me. I let him._

_Cold air takes up residence in his absence and I place my hand on my stomach, my forefinger gliding over my bottom rib. “You know, if you’re going to start being that loud every time we fuck we are really going to piss off the neighbors,” Brian says as he lights a cigarette._

_Carbon monoxide floods into the air and I smile. I love the smell, so remarkably common and on him, from him, completely unique._

_I allow myself to blush at his words. “I screamed?”_

_“Mm,” he huffs as he blows out a ring of smoke and presses his lips, soft and moist, to the side of my face. “You woke the dead.”_

_Funny, I did not hear myself scream._  
 **  
Not… dead… yet, are the first words that assault my brain as I blink back into consciousness. “I was wondering when you were going to wake up. I decided to let you sleep for awhile. I didn’t need you to be awake,” he says as he looms over me.**

_**I ignore the cooling fluids that I feel draining from me. I push it away from the front of my mind.** _

_**He wraps his hand around my wrist and presses a glass into my hand, the amber liquid smoothing along the soft curves of the glass. “Drink this,” he says. I don’t move and his fingers tighten over mine. “I’m not fucking asking.”** _

_**He helps me press the glass to my lips.  
**_  
I drop my hands from my eyes and suppress the urge to scream.

The loft is different at night, when everything is quiet and nothing but memories and lingering regrets are left to idly wander. 

I don’t sleep. I can’t. I lay awake, staring at the ceiling and listening to my heart beat away the minutes. 

Brian moves in his sleep and I look over at him, the moonlight fading into his skin, turning him bluish white. I get up off the bed and walk out of the bedroom, my body running on the few hours of sleep that I managed to get yesterday.

I sit on the sofa and look out of the window, my fingers dancing over the black cast on my arm. An artist’s fingers that are slowly losing the strength needed to perform their task. I pull on the Velcro strap, loosening the brace until it slides free from my arm. 

I place it next to me, telling it silently to be quiet, not to move. I finger the scar that runs parallel with my skin, unable to stop touching it, even when a blast of pain finds its way into the vicinity. 

“Well, I don’t know about you,” I say to the small stuffed puppy that Brian will never admit he bought, “but I think the scar is very endearing. Like a… battle wound,” I say with a smile as two tears slide down my cheeks. I wipe them both away. 

I think back to the stuffed care bear that Daphne carried around with us. Wherever we went the bear was there. It knew all our secrets and told no one so we let it stay, until Daphne discovered something else she liked.

We were two best friends, always together. We still are.

I reach for the phone on instinct, my ears trained on the other room, listening for any sign of Brian waking up. I don’t hear anything.   
__  
“You’re going to get me in trouble, Justin,” Daphne whispers, small tremors of amusement riding on the words.

_I shift on my bed and lay on my stomach, my feet in the air, tenting the sheets. We start middle school in the morning. We are finally going to be in the seventh grade. I’m glad, sixth grade was starting to get really boring._

_“No I’m not,” I say with authority. Daphne is always worried about getting in trouble._

_“Well, what do you want? It’s really late and we have to go to school in the morning,” she says. I bury my face in my pillow and hold the walkie-talkie to the side of my head, making an imprint in the pillow._

_“I know,” I say with a small laugh, “I just wanted to make sure that the walkie-talkies work,” I tell her. She sighs and I can see the smile on her face clearly in my mind._

_I hear the rustle of sheets and I kick my legs back and forth as I wait for Daphne to say something. “Good night, Justin,” I hear suddenly. I stop kicking my feet and answer on auto-pilot._

_“Good night, Mrs. Chanders,” I say as I turn the walkie-talkie off as fast as possible. ‘Oh man,’ I think, ‘Daphne is going to kill me.’  
_   
“Hello?” I hear Daphne’s sleepy voice answer. She clears her throat and waits for me to say something.

“Daphne,” I say, tears trapped in my throat. I play with the puppy’s ear and scratch his head, waiting for the panting tongue and wagging tail. It never comes. 

“Justin, is that you?” She asks. I can tell she is sitting up in the bed, turning on the lamp, looking at the time. “It’s five o’clock in the morning.”

“I know,” I say into the phone. “I just…I, wanted…. Do you remember when we were thirteen and we got those walkie-talkies?” 

“Yeah, I remember. Justin, are you okay? Do you want me to come over?” She asks. I hear her moving around on the bed and I know she is getting up. 

“No, no,” I say twice and I hear her movements settle. “I just, wanted… to hear your voice. I’ll talk to you later.” I hang up the phone before she can decide to pull on her clothes, over her pajamas, and drive over. 

I toss the phone down next to me and pull the coffee table closer to me. I put my feet on the table and sit the dog on top of my bent knees. 

One beat…

Four…

“I think I am going to call you Blue. Yes, I know you’re brown, but that’s okay. I like the way blue sounds,” I tell my faithful companion. I pat the top of his head and lean back on the sofa, pulling at the sleeves of my shirt and pulling my arms in close to my skin.  
 __  
“You’re going to stretch all of your clothes out doing that,” Brian says as he looks up from the magazine he is reading.

_My arms are stretched above my head, the ends of my sleeves held tightly between my fingers and a pencil behind my ear, taking a break. “Yeah, and you pulling them over my head over and over at every angle do nothing to contribute to the problem,” I say._

_He glares at me before turning the page of his magazine.  
_   
“Look Blue, here comes the sun.”

**

Ronnie Jr. …

“Use less water next time. You’re overworking the clay. Relax with it, its art… not rocket science,” I say with a smile.

“Okay,” Reyna replies as she looks at her work. 

“Okay people, the time has come for the annual Art Explosion. As you all know, every student is given a chance to enter an original work,” I announce as I walk around the room. Sunlight is streaming through the high windows, bathing the room in much needed light and shadow.

“What’s the prize for first place?” Anthony yells out. I hate when students yell out but I swallow my annoyance and keep talking.   
__  
“Keep your fucking mouth shut if you know what’s good for ya,” my dad says as he pushes me up against the wall and walks away.

_I wipe the tears from my face and take a deep breath. I have to smile, smile for the guest. Smile at mom’s funeral. Pretend to be happy._

_“Oh Ronnie,” Mrs. Penn says as she wraps her arms around me, “I am so sorry for your lost. Your mother was a very beautiful woman. I will miss her so much.” She starts to cry as she pulls away, wiping at her nose with a crumpled tissue._

_I stare at her, her perfume assaulting my senses. Her make-up is cracked and her lips are dry, smeared slightly with the temporary moisture of tears and perspiration. Her sentiments are not real. She hated my mother. My mother was not fond of her._

_I no longer feel anything._

_“You make sure you take care of your father, okay?” She says as she hugs me again and moves on. She circles her arms around my father and starts her speech all over again with practiced sympathy and grief._

_I glance to my right at Ryan as he stands next to me, both feet resting on their sides as he watches Mrs. Thomason, one of mom’s closest friends, handing people obituaries. I nudge him with my right arm and smile at him._

_We only have to pretend for a little while longer.  
_   
“Ah, I bet everyone would like to know the answer to Mr. Dallis’ question.” The students all watch me, waiting for me to tell them the first place prize. “Well, it seems that this year there is the very generous amount of two thousand dollars awaiting the artist who decides to put themselves up for slaughter.”

“Two… _thousand_?” Billy Ackrund asks. I nod my head as I tap my dry-erase marker against the side of my thigh. I see the two men enter the classroom, my eyes immediately drawn to their guns and badges.

“Umm, yeah… two thousand,” I say as my throat dries. “Why don’t we end class early today? Give you all a chance to start on your projects,” I say. The students all start to pack up their things, not unaware of the two looming men in the room, their mere presence is nerve pinching. 

I check myself. I must remain calm.

**

Brian…

“Are you okay? It’s just like walking out of the loft,” I say as we walk toward the dental office, one foot in front of the other. 

“I’m fine, stop fucking asking me if I’m okay,” he tells me as he tightens his grip on my hand, holding my right arm close to his side and taking deep, paced breaths. We reach the building and I feel like we have walked miles through the desert. 

“Whatever you say,” I reply as I pull open the door and step into the office. The faint buzzing of tools and the smell of cleanser waft through the air as we make our way to the desk. “Justin Taylor, he has a nine o’clock appointment.”

She looks down at her book and finds his name. “Okay, here we are. Have you been here before?” I know Justin isn’t going to speak to the woman. I can almost feel his pulse running through his fingers and into my body.

“We saw Dr. Morrison,” I tell her. She nods and looks up from her appointment book after jotting something down.

“Okay, well, have a seat and we’ll call you back shortly.” 

We sit in the chairs. They are comfortable and relaxing but Justin does not sit back. He stays tense, sitting up straight in the seat next to me and staring straight ahead. I look over at the middle-aged man across from me, reading the times trying to pretend he knows everything about anything.

“Justin,” Dr. Morrison calls as he stands propping the door open. I get up first and wait for Justin to do the same. “Brian, how are you?”

“Just peachy doc,” I say as we follow him into the back and into a private room. Dr. Morrison closes the door behind us and gestures to the chair in the room. I let Justin’s hand slip from mine as he gets into the dentist’s chair, his feet nervously moving from side to side.

“Hello Justin,” Dr. Morrison says as he moves around Justin. He keeps his movements slow, not wanting a repeat of the emotional outburst that Justin had at the first visit weeks ago.

“Hey,” Justin says, his hands placed calmly in his lap. I know better. I know that tears threaten to spill from him at any moment. I know he wants to run out of the door and into obliteration.

“Okay,” Dr. Morrison says as he slips on some gloves, turns on the overhead light and sits down on his stool next to Justin’s head, using his foot to raise the chair. “Let’s take a look.”  
 _  
“So doc, how’s it look?” I ask. Justin is wiping at his mouth, trying to remove all traces of the solution that Dr. Morrison used to clean his mouth. He swings his legs over the side of the chair, placing his feet near the floor and causing the leather to protest._

_Dr. Morrison turns the light off and pushes it further out of the way as he pulls off his gloves and looks at Justin. “Well, provided that you keep progressing how you’ve been and there are no foreseeable complications then I don’t see why we can’t have the wires off as early as your next visit.”  
_  
Dr. Morrison gets up and Justin wipes at his mouth, his fingers toying with the paper edges of the bib. “Everything looks good,” he says as he pulls the gloves from his hands. 

“Are you going to take the wires off?” Justin asks. Dr. Morrison washes his hands and pulls some paper towels from the dispenser. 

“Yes, I think it is safe now to take them off. But, I want you to know that this is in no way an excuse for you to slack off on your oral maintenance and you’ll need to keep eating the soft foods for the next few weeks.”  
 _  
“If you don’t get that fucking chicken broth out of my face I can seriously see myself inflicting bodily harm on you,” Justin tells me._

_I don’t follow him into the bedroom. He looks like he might mean it._  
  
“Great,” Justin says. Dr. Morrison grabs some more gloves and sits down, pulling the tray he prepared over with him. “Is it going to hurt?” Justin asks and I get up to stand on the other side of the chair.

“It shouldn’t, but we’ll give you a local anesthetic and a prescription for the pain along with an antibiotic to ward off infection. We can’t be too careful,” Dr. Morrison says as he readies the needle. 

Justin moves his hand and grabs onto mine as he closes his eyes tightly.

** 

Ronnie Jr. …

“We understand that Ms. Monroe was a student in your Art Concepts class,” Detective Ramirez says as he walks around, glancing at the students works, getting a feel for the place. 

His partner stands loosely, lingering near me.

“Yes, she was. She showed a lot of potential. I just can’t believe she’s… dead,” I say, swallowing deeply and scratching the inside of my palm. The detective stops walking, and turns toward me.

“When was the last time you saw her?” He asks and my heart skips a beat. 

His partner moves around the back of me, circling me. I can almost feel the suspicions rolling from them and I swallow down my own apprehension.

“Umm, I saw her that Tuesday. Yes, it was Tuesday,” I say as I turn away from them and start to gather my papers, glancing once at the clock.

**

Detective Jorge Ramirez…

It only takes one second to notice the flicker of nervousness as it rolls through his body. I glance at Josh and he looks at me. 

He saw it too. 

“Tuesday, you say?” He nods his head and starts to talk, rattling off the many reasons why he remembers it was a Tuesday.

She was seen leaving his class on Wednesday afternoon.


	10. Do Unto Others...

AN: BIG Thank You to my beta Carly. I hope you guys like it.

* * *

  
A Light In The Attic…

There’s a light on in the attic.  
Though the house is dark and shuttered,  
I can see a flickerin’ flutter,  
And I know what it’s all about.  
There’s a light on in the attic.  
I can see it from the outside,  
And I know you’re on the inside… lookin’ out.

By Shel Silverstein

**

Justin…  
 ** _  
Sunshine, blue skies, please go away…  
_**  
“It’s colder today than I thought it would be,” I say. Brian nods but says nothing as we slip back into silence.  
 ** _  
I know to you, it might sound strange  
But I wish it would rain  
_**   
Brian reaches out his hand and turns the radio down, but not off. We both need the barrier to buffer the crushing reality of uncertainty. I dance my tongue, lightly, over the fronts of my teeth. 

I never knew such a simply act could change the pace of my heart.  
 ** _  
‘Cause so badly I wanna go outside,  
But everyone knows that a man,  
Ain’t supposed to cry, listen,  
I gotta cry, ‘cause cryin’ eases the pain.  
Oh yeah, people this hurt I feel inside,  
Words can never explain,  
I just wish it would rain.  
_**  
“You heard what the doctor said, Justin. Just give it time,” Brian says.  
 __  
“Have you been able to graduate to the three pound weight?” Dr. Salas asks as he sits my chart on the counter behind him, moving himself closer; the wheels of the stool protesting the movements.

_“No,” I say softly, “I can barely lift the two.” Brian takes a deep breath and crosses his hands over his chest._

_“He’s not sleeping, or eating,” Brian says. Well damn, tell him I can’t take five steps outside the loft without having a panic attack while you’re at it._

_“I’m not **supposed** to be eating,” I say in my defense as I look at Brian and then the doctor. “So see, that’s a **good** thing.” It took me an hour an a half to make it out the door today, a minute longer than yesterday._

_Dr. Salas is not amused, neither is Brian. “You have to eat Justin. You’ve lost enough weight,” Dr. Salas tells me. “If you continue to drop then we’ll have to admit you and place you on an IV.”_

_“Yippee,” I say flatly as he examines the rest of my injuries._

_Brian sighs at that news and sits in the chair, specifically put there for that ‘oh-so-important’ significant other; or your jacket, socks, shoes and valuables if you just so happen to be flying solo._

_“The stab wounds to your chest seem to be healing fine,” the doctor tells me. Yeah, they actually weren’t as painful as the cracked ribs and busted sense of normality. He finishes his exam and pulls the gloves from his hands, tossing them in the trash and wheeling back to me._

_“So?” Brian asks as he sits up straight and clasps his hands together, daring the doctor to tell him information that he doesn’t want to hear. Dr. Salas looks from him and back to me._

_“Everything looks good. I’m going to fit you with a flexi-cast that’s going to go under your brace. It should provide you with more support and help to speed along your recovery,” he tells me as he presses the call button and continues to talk. I don’t hear him. I tune him out._

_“Justin… Justin,” Brian calls. I snap my head back to the front._

_“Huh?”_

_“I said, I am concerned about you not sleeping and eating,” Dr. Salas repeats as a nurse knocks on the door. He glances around the room and invites the nurse to open it._

_“Yes?”_

_“Can you bring me some flexi-casts? Different sizes, please?” She nods and leaves the room, returning in less than thirty minutes with various sealed boxes. “Thank you.”_

_“I can’t sleep,” I say as he tries different casts on my arm. I grimace in pain as he jostles my wrist._

_“Sorry,” Dr. Salas says. Brian bites his bottom lip as he stands next to the bed. He smells like… Brian. I love it. “Why can’t you sleep?”_

_I stare at the top of his head and frown. “I keep seeing things. I see things when I’m awake so I can only imagine what they’d look like in the darkness,” I mumble. He finishes fitting the cast and slips my brace back into place, the black covering the flesh colored flexi-cast._

_“I really would prefer that you try and sleep the natural way, but I can see that that is not happening for you anytime soon. So, I’m going to give you a prescription for something to help you sleep and some Xanax to help with the anxiety.”_

_“Great,” I say as he starts to write out the prescription. Brian leans into the table and the paper crinkles._

_I hate the sound of that paper.  
_  
I press the palms of my hands to the sides of my head, boxing my ears and casting off the sounds of all that is living. I can hear the rush of cars and the thumping of Brian’s heart as we drive along. 

I press my hands tighter, forming a seal.

I can hear the ocean.  
 __  
All around the farmer’s bench,  
The monkey chased the weasel,   
The monkey thought ‘twas all in fun,  
Pop, goes the weasel!

_“I’m serious Molly, cut it out,” I say as I lean over my science book, my left foot resting on the chair and my right foot on the floor. She looks over at me and smiles._

_All around the farmer’s bench,_  
The monkey chased the weasel,   
The monkey thought ‘twas all in fun,  
Pop, goes the weasel! 

_“Molly, I’m going to break that toy into a million pieces,” I say as she ignores me, turning the dial on the toy radio and letting it play again. I toss my pencil down on the table and turn to stare at her, willing my anger and annoyance into her small body._

_“MOLLY, TURN IT THE FUCK OFF!” I shout._

_All around the farmer’s bench,_  
The monkey chased the weasel,   
The monkey thought ‘twas all in fun,  
Pop, goes the weasel! 

_“No, mom said that I could listen to it,” she says as she combs the hair on her doll. “I’m going to tell her that you said a bad word and then you’re going to get in….” I snatch the doll out of her hands and hold it tightly, my fingers gripped tightly around its neck._

_“Hey, give her back. Justin, give her back,” Molly screams. I point at the small ‘radio’ and hold her doll higher over my head._

_“Give me the radio,” I say. I am not all bad. I am willing to negotiate._

_“Fine,” she says as she stands, hands me the radio, grabs her doll and stomps off. My mom comes into the room no less than three minutes later and stands next to me._

_“Honestly Justin, do you have to torment your sister?”_

_“She was being a pain,” I say in my defense. She shakes her head and walks over to the refrigerator._

_“Just you wait, in time you’ll wish you were nicer to her,” she says. I roll my eyes and glance at the offensive toy._

_“Yeah, I doubt that,” I say under my breath.  
_   
“Time is bullshit,” I say as I welcome the world back into my senses.

**

Detective Jorge Ramirez…  
 __  
“She lied,” Captain Kansan says as he walks behind me into my office. “She said her husband was with her on Friday night."

_“And?”_

_“Turns out he was with his mistress,” he tells me with a smile and a nod. “He’s busted.”  
_  
“What are you talking about?” I ask as Josh stands pacing in front of my desk, pictures of Janna Monroe’s body hanging religiously behind him on the bulletin board, another fly in the spider’s web. “The witness said that….”

“She says she was mistaken. She says that she remembers she thought it was a Wednesday because she had to pick up her husband at the train station, which she did every Wednesday,” Josh tells me, the story coming off his tongue in waves as he gestures wildly.

“Well, it seems that she’d forgotten that her husband got his _schedule changed_ ,” he says as he slams his hands on my desk and leans in, “to accommodate their upcoming _vacation_. She picked him up on a Tuesday.” Josh raises his hands and runs his hands through his hair.

“Are you telling me, that the only suspect we have in this case was telling the truth?” I ask as I sit forward, my arms resting on my desk. Josh lets out a jet of air and nods.

“It seems that way. I mean, the guy was clean anyway. There was no record of him anywhere,” Josh says. “I checked him out myself.”

“Something about him… just, rubs me the wrong way,” I admit, never one to roll on hunches. “Do me a favor and check into him again.”

“Are you sure? He seemed to be pretty straight forward. Had all his ducks in a row,” Josh says. I nod my head. I know.

“He was a little too straight forward for my liking,” I say, my voice authoritative and even. “Look again.”

“You’re the boss.”

**

Brian…

I wipe the water from my eyes and take a calming breath, turning around to lean my head against the glass, the heated water beating down onto my back begging me to relax.  
 _  
“The water is not **that** hot,” I say as I reach my arm around his chest and pull him close to me, my swollen cock pressed firmly between his cheeks. _

_“Yeah, to you,” he says as I push his head to the side and press my lips to his neck. He reaches up and holds the back of my head, making the kisses harder as he turns in my arms. “Fuck me.”  
_   
I turn around and turn off the water, the image in my mind splintering into pieces. 

I get out of the shower and wrap a towel around my waist as I walk into the bedroom. Justin is lying in the bed, curled into a ball under the vast expanse of blue.

I surround myself with simple shades of creams and browns, colors that when treated kindly cast off the perfect reflection of dominance, complexity and welcome. 

Whites…

Browns…

Grays… 

The list goes on, shifting without a hitch from lights to darks, reveling in its covert operation to cast others off and hold them at bay. Strong, bold, cold and open space dusted with welcoming colors and open arms. 

Except the bed. 

The bed stands mutinous above the others, refusing to bleed and blend in. Refusing to conform and fall into the ranks; bold blue, raised above the floor and ruling the kingdom.

The bed provides a sanctuary… and he takes up residence. 

I look up from the computer and sigh deeply. He hasn’t moved sense he came from the doctor. He hasn’t eaten sense he came back from the dentist, yesterday.

Thirteen pounds gone and counting.   
__  
“You do realize that that’s going to take a lifetime to work off, don’t you?” I ask as he opens the pizza box, the lid refusing to bend all the way back and touch the counter.

_“You do realize that I can say the same thing about all the alcohol you consume, right?” He counters. “Besides, with my considerably younger metabolism it won’t take me nearly as long as it’ll take you.”_

_“Hmm,” I say as I walk over to him and run my hands down his arms, holding onto his hips. “You think so?”_

_“Yup,” he says matter-of-factly as he leans into me._

_“Then maybe we should start working it off now,” I tell him as I turn him around and capture his lips in mine.  
_  
I blink away the memory and focus my eyes back on the bedroom. He turns over, laying on his right. The shades are drawn, blocking out the light and befriending the darkness.

I turn my attention back to my work, welcoming the distraction and the guilt I feel from needing it. 

I don’t know what to do for him. That’s the truth, amplified as loud as the setting sun and just as beautiful. The only problem is that there is no one here to see it. 

I don’t know what to do. My heart tells me to scream, to open my mouth and let out a torrent of curses, but I don’t.

I watch him struggle through everyday. I watch him pretend like every inch of his skin doesn’t crawl with unspoken memories and resentments.

I watch him and it’s like a mirror. I see myself. I see the walls that I worked so hard to build standing up against me and blocking me out. He learned so many things from me.

Completely disconnecting from his emotions is not one of them. I am glad.

**

Justin…

Drip…

Drip…

Drip… Drip…

Drip… Drip… Drip…

The water beats against the tile, long ago cooled and sounding out its protest. 

“What are you waiting for?” I ask as I look at myself in the mirror; another night of darkness and resounding quiet. I walk out of the bathroom and through the room, passing Brian’s sleeping form as I make my way down the steps. 

I grab the new sketchpads he bought and the box of supplies, walking over to the window. I press my back to the glass and drop the sketchpad in my hand to the ground, listening as it paints the walls with sound.

The moonlight casts an eerie glow that I have come to love and admire and hate. I resent its fearlessness, its ability to break through the dark and still be able to shine.

I drop to the floor, falling comfortably into a sitting position and leaning forward, my forearms resting on my shins and my heart in my hands. I sit the box next to me and flip open the top, searching through the contents with reckless abandon and needed release.

I close my eyes, feeling my blood course through me.  
 __  
“I love charcoal drawings,” I say as I stare at the finished work. “Something about it just looks so… mysterious. Like I am watching something that I am not supposed to see.”

_“Like a bad porno,” Brian says as he glances at the drawing._

_“No, like a self-portrait.”  
_  
I clutch the piece of charcoal tightly in my right hand, positioned between my fingers and ready to try.

I open my eyes and look down at the blank page, so open and trusting. I hate it. I press the tip of the charcoal to the paper and I hate it. As my hand moves I feel release, timed to each stroke and perfect.

A pain shoots through my arm, down my fingers and under my skin. “Fucking… SHIT!” I shout, but I don’t stop. I can’t. I switch hands, grasping the charcoal in my left hand and getting up on my knees, looming over the innocent material.

I see Brian’s form as it appears at the top of the stairs and steps down. He walks over to me and presses his palm into my flesh. “Justin,” he says as he tries to still my movements. I yank my arm away. 

I don’t want him to touch me.

I press it down and continue my assault. “It’s not fair,” I mutter as my hand flies over the page and I clutch my right arm tightly to my chest. “It’s not fair.”

“I know,” he says and I bite my lip, keeping in the torrents and the screams. He retracts his arm and lowers himself to the floor next to me. “Justin, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

“Yeah, well, maybe that’s not a bad idea,” I say out loud, giving him a glimpse inside my thoughts. He takes in a shutter of breath and lets it out quickly. I let the tears fall from my eyes. I feel my anxieties bursting open, exposing me to infection and disease.

I hate everyone who walks along the street and fears nothing.

I hate everyone who laughs uncontrollably.

I hate everyone who pretends that the world is not fucked up, unfair, selfish and daunting. 

I throw the charcoal across the room, listening as it ricochets into some forgotten corner. I reach into the box, knocking it over. The supplies scatter across the room, searching for a hiding place and hoping to escape my tantrum.

I hate that I want nothing more than to forget everything.

I hate that I manage the feat but then my tongue touches the backs of the implants without even trying and everything I managed to choke down floats back to the surface. 

I hate it.

I hate whoever came up with the idea of a nutritional supplement. 

I hate knowing that my skin is pale and there are dark circles under my eyes. 

I hate knowing that I can’t walk out the goddamn fucking loft without feeling like my chest is going to explode.

I hate my art for making me open, for making me trusting, for exposing me. 

I grab another piece of charcoal and hold on tight.

The liquid strokes turn into angry stabs as I slam the charcoal into the paper, sending chips of black and bitterness onto the hardwood. “Justin, stop,” Brian says as he moves closer to me, his arms closing over mine and stilling my movements.

He grabs my left wrist and wraps his hand around the brace of my right arm, holding me close against his body. I hold onto the charcoal securely in my burning palm. “I hate this. I hate it so much,” I say as he holds onto me. 

I hate myself for taking it all for granted.  
 __  
“Justin, you’ll draw again. You just have to give your hand time to get better,” he says as I twist the cap off of my medication, four bottles sitting patiently on the countertop, my right hand shaking without command.

_“You don’t know that. You don’t,” I say evenly as I count out the pills. Brian walks up behind me and wraps his fingers around my arms. “Stop, don’t touch me,” I say as I shrug him off._

_He lets out a sigh and moves away from me, standing behind me, leaning on the counter. “The doctor said…”_

_“Oh fuck the doctor,” I say as I spin around and look at him. His tongue finds its way into his cheek but he says nothing. “All everyone says is the doctor says this and the doctor says that, but the doctor doesn’t have to carry around a useless limb that shakes whenever I try to move it.”_

_“It’s not that….”_

_“What? It’s not that bad?” I say, harsher than I mean to and calmer than I should._

_He chooses to stay quiet. Good for him. “The doctor doesn’t have to take…_ **five different pills** because he can’t focus and he can’t sleep and he can’t fucking **stop his goddamn hand from shaking** ,” I scream icily as I throw down the bottle of pills in my hand, knocking over the rest and dusting the countertop in medicinal residue.  
  
“I wish it would rain,” I whisper.

* * *

“I Wish It Would Rain” by: The Temptations


	11. Do Unto Others...

AN: Thank you to my beta Carly. Thank all you guys for reviewing, I appreciate all of them.

* * *

Detective Jorge Ramirez…

Stolen image, tacked to board and patiently waiting.

The skin beneath my wedding ring is red, made raw by years of abuse. I twirl the metal, around and around, searching for a solution. 

I can’t see it. 

I can’t see it.

Talk to me.   
_  
“I don’t see it,” I say as I look at the file photo in my hands, black and white copy of events gone past. Captain Kansan looks at me, fire in his veins, pulsing._

_He isn’t angry, he is waiting; waiting for me to see._

_“That’s cause you’re looking **at** the photo, rookie,” he tells me as he pulls a cigarette from his pocket and lights it, his movements seasoned. I feel small, crushed under the weight of his experience._

_“Aren’t, aren’t I supposed to be?” I stutter, remnant of a nervous twitch that I quickly learned to replace with tact and leadership. The other officers, older than me, start to snicker._

_I shift on my feet and look at the Captain, only the Captain; focus._

_“Hey, assholes, I’ve got a seven year old and her mom with fucking tags on their toes down in the city morgue. No names, nothing. Get back to work,” he says, wiping the smiles off of their faces._

_He exhales a steady stream of smoke and moves to stand behind me, my heart throbbing in my chest. “Don’t look at the photo,” he says as he taps the thick piece of paper, held tightly in my hands. “See.” He takes another pull on the cigarette and waits for my inevitable doubt._

_“I don’t under….”_

_“I know, but trust me,” he says and I do. I trust him, enough to close my eyes and open them again. I take a deep breath and look down at the photo. I think of nothing. I want nothing. I give… nothing. I wait._

_The image starts to pop out at me as my eyes rake over the thin gloss, stinging from the visual assault. “Now, tell me what you see.”_

_“Scratches on her neck, bruises around her right jaw. Decaying leaves, in her hair,” I say, “pine needles.” I pause as I look at the needles, tangled wantonly in massive ebony curls. There are no pine trees here, none. “She didn’t die here,” I whisper._

_“Exactly,” he says as he drops his cigarette to the ground and stubs it out, pressing the paper covered filter into the soft earth beneath our feet. “Don’t watch the photos, listen to the victims,” he says as we head back to the cruiser._

_“Come on, we’ve got more work to do.”_

_I trace his footsteps, all the way back to the car and back into the city. One word, simple and complete resonates through my mind, ‘see.’_  
  
“I’m missing something. What is it?” I ask the photos across the room. They don’t answer, they can’t. Death, murder and mystery are portentous that way. I stand up, placing one foot in front of the other as I make my way across the room.

I stop, standing in front of the photos, the victims. Janna Monroe, body decomposed beyond recognition. 

I bite the tip of my tongue, twisting my ring, over and over. “Red scarves at all the crime scenes,” I whisper into the air as I shadow my hand over the photos. “Bite marks,” I add to the list. 

Twist…

“One survivor, Justin Taylor,” I say. I place my hands on my hips and close my eyes. I relax my muscles, slow my breathing. 

Focus.  
 **  
I can feel the pulse of my heart, the damp sound of choking muscle as I struggle to take in just one more breath of air. His fingers press into the flesh of my neck, holding me steady, against the wall.**

**“Cops, you’re all the same. You think you’re so smart. You think you know everything. You don’t know shit,” he says as he repositions his fingers, pressing into my flesh. I can feel the blood as it floods my face, crashing through my body, wondering where to go.**

**“It’s a shame really,” he says as he traces a finger down my face and across my chest, pausing to pop open the buttons on my shirt, “we could have had so much fun together.” Tremors flow through me, numbing my fingers and quieting my feet.**

**“Hmm,” he says as his hand finds my cock. “Maybe we still can.” My fingers never stop moving, working to pry his fingers from my throat. His fingers are even more frantic, a kid in a candy store.**

**He pulls me forward, stepping behind me as we move to the mirror across the room. The streetlight pours in, reflecting shards of artificial light across his hand and over my chest.**

**His grip is looser now.**

**“My mother looked beautiful in the moonlight,” he says as he moves his left hand up and down my chest, his right held lazily against my throat and shoulder blade. “She would stare in the mirror for hours, looking at her bruises, crying.” I can’t stop my body from shaking.**

**I roll my lips into my mouth, a simple gesture, to swallow the tears that threaten to rip from me. He smiles, soft and sweet as he raises his finger to my lips, tracing the warm digit over my lips. Terror, so raw and white streaks through me as his finger slices through the air.**

**He pulls his index finger, perfectly manicured, into his mouth, letting it linger.**

**He closes his eyes and I can feel his dick, pressing into me through his jeans. He leans forward, opening his eyes to watch my reflection stare back at him. “Till death… do us part,” he breathes into my ear.**

**He clamps down on the skin of my neck, biting until the flesh is broken. My knees buckle and he holds me steady as we sink to the floor. I catch the indentation on his finger, where his ring should be, as we drop out of sight of the mirror.  
**   
“Shit,” I say as I open my eyes, my pulse speeding along with the dwindling possession. I look at the photos again. I step closer to the board, my breathing ragged and expectant. 

See.

I can see the faint mark of a ring along the necks of three of the bodies, the shoulder of one and the thighs of another. I look down at my own hand. Distinct discoloration marks my skin as I slide my ring forward slightly.  
 _  
My eyes travel the length of his body as he talks. “On Tuesdays I go to my son’s soccer games,” he says. He flips the flap closed on his bag and buckles the clasps. The clouds shift, burying his bag in illumination._

_There is no glint from a wedding band, but the tan lines of a matrimonial band contradict his appearance. “Are you married, Mr. Matthews?” I ask, knowing the answer. He drops the mask, briefly and recovers just as fast. Josh moves, coming to a stop in the spot next to me._

_“Yes, I am.” I nod my head and smile as I point at his ring finger._

_“You seem to be missing something,” I say. He doesn’t look at his finger but it jerks, just slightly._

_Colorless anger pours from his cheery facade. I can’t see it but I can feel it. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to be going,” he states. I hand him my card as he tries to rush past._

_“Incase you think of something,” I tell him. He looks at me and then at Josh before disappearing out of the door.  
_  
I grab my badge and my gun off my desk. I open my office door and step into the common area, a sea of desks, paperwork and endless amounts of death and hardship. “Hey,” I say as I make my way over to Josh’s office, the walls still blank.

“Hey, what’s up?” He asks with all of his attention focused on the box on his new desk. Promotion to detective and a nice pay increase. I remember when it was me.

“I may have found something, lets go,” I say tapping on the doorframe and walking towards the front door of the station. I hear Josh as he grabs his things and falls into step behind me.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” He asks as we reach the car and I unlock the door. I hear the click of the lock and look over at Josh, telling him my thoughts over the hood of my cruiser. 

**

Justin…

I watch the colors as they attach themselves to the platinum of my ring, holding on long enough to leave the slightest impression. The colors have come and gone as the time rolls past, leaving just enough color in their wake to tell the time. 

“You’ve been laying there for over two days,” Brian says as he stands next to the bed. I look up at him and clear my throat, the tightness of my jaw making the action slow and meaningful.

“I always knew you were good at math,” I say with the smallest smirk I can produce. He huffs a laugh and nods his head. 

“And I always knew you had a flair for the dramatic,” he tells me as he pulls a cigarette from behind his ear and looks around for a lighter. I shrug my shoulder, he misses the motion as he turns and leaves the room, searching for his lighter.

“It’s not something to be taken lightly,” I defend as my eyes, once again, fall into rhythm with the colors. “It takes time and dedication to get to my level of expertise.”   
__  
I sniff, long and hard as I push my bike up the driveway, tossing the two-wheeler onto its side. I use the back of my arm to wipe away the sweat, tears, dust and dirt that has gathered on my face.

_Daphne is right behind me, her long braids hanging over her shoulders as she drops her bike down next to mine. “Wow, I think its bleeding even more now. Let me see it,” she says as I stand next to her, raising my arm so she can see the large scrape._

_“Yeah,” I say as we both look._

_“It looks really gross,” she offers with a laugh as she reaches out her dirt covered hand. I take a hurried step back._

_“Eww,” I stretch out, “don’t touch it.” She rolls her eyes as I bend my arm at an awkward angle so that I too can see the large wound._

_“You’re such a baby,” she says as we walk through my open garage door, pausing at the door that leads into the house._

_“I am not. I’m older than you,” I say, stretching myself to my full height as if that solidifies my eight and a half years on the planet. She crosses her arms and smirks._

_“By like, what? Three **whole** weeks, Pfft,” she says as she pushes past me and opens the door, walking into the house. I shrug as I follow her. She walks over to the refrigerator and pulls open the door._

_“Hands,” I hear my mother say as she walks into the kitchen, wiping her hands on the apron that protects her clothes. Daphne huffs and moves over to the sink, washing her hands quickly. “Soap,” my mom says as Daphne starts to walk away._

_“Aww, Mrs. Taylor,” Daphne says as she turns to wash her hands, again. My mother has her back to me, occupied with Daphne._

_“I know, I’m so horrible,” my mother says as she steps back in front of the tray of cookies that she’s baking. “Forgive me for not wanting you to eat the germs of every girl and boy on the playground.”_

_Daphne shuts the water off with a laugh, wiping her hands on her shirt. “Uh…” my mom says with a sigh before resigning us to a life of germs. Her eyes finally fall on me as I wander to the sink to wash my hands._

_“Justin, sweetie, what happened?” My mom asks as she quickly moves to my side, holding onto my arm and raising it to her eye level. “Oh my God,” she says as she looks down at my knee._

_“He fell off his bike,” Daphne answers happily, wiping away her milk mustache and nodding her head._

_Huge tears fall from my eyes at her inquiry, staining my shirt with salted vengeance. “I fell off my bike,” I say through choked sobs. Daphne rolls her eyes as she pours herself some more milk, grabbing the chocolate syrup._

_My mom makes a face as she leads me over to the kitchen table. Daphne follows, sitting in the chair across from mine, popping the top off of the chocolate syrup bottle. “Let me get the first aid kit,” my mom says as she leaves the room, returning quickly._

_Daphne turns the chocolate syrup over letting it drizzle into her milk, chocolate strands marking the sides of the glass. “I have told you two to be careful when you’re riding your bikes.”_

_I look at Daphne and smile._

_We were as careful as you can be while trying to stay on our bikes as we took turns spinning the merry-go round as fast as possible. So, technically, **fell** is a loose description. **Flew off** is the more appropriate account of what happened. _

_“We were Mrs. Taylor,” Daphne says as she stirs the chocolate into the milk, taking a deep gulp._

_“Yeah,” I sniff, the last of my tears leaving a trail through the dirt on my face. I wince as my mom pours hydrogen peroxide on my wounds. Daphne leans over the table, watching. I snatch the glass from between her fingers and drink the rest of the cold liquid._

_“Hey,” she complains._

_“There,” my mom says as she applies the last bandage, “you’re as good as new.” She kisses me on the top of the head and goes to put the kit away._

_“See, I told you. Baby,” Daphne says as she points at the tears on my face. I pout and smack her hand away._

_“Shut up,” I say. “That was for the effect.”_

_“Sure,” she says as my mom walks back into the kitchen, wiping her washed hands on her apron. She steps back up to the counter and starts to finish taking the cooled cookies off of the cookie sheet. Daphne and I press our bodies into her, one on each side._

_“One,” my mom says and we both grab two._

_“Why do I even bother?” She asks as she drops some more dough onto the cookie sheet and puts it in the oven. I grab a glass and the ice cream. Daphne grabs the milk out of the refrigerator. “Don’t make a mess.”_

_“We won’t,” we shout as we scramble back over to the table.  
_  
**

Brian…

“I bet,” I say as I locate my lighter and light my cigarette, turning to watch him lying in the bed, watching the colors as they play against his ring. 

A sharp knock on the door halts anything else I might say. I walk over to the door and slide it back. “Daphne,” I say with a smile.

“Hey, Brian,” she says with a smile as she gestures inside. 

“Come on in,” I say, moving to the side. She enters the loft and walks over to the kitchen, setting down the grocery bag she is carrying. “Sunshine, you have a visitor.”

“Go away,” he says without knowing who it is. Daphne frowns and I take a glance at Justin. Daphne turns to me as she tosses off her jacket. 

“How long has he been in there?” She whispers. I run a hand over my face and take a deep breath, smiling exhaustedly.

“Over two days,” I tell her. Her mouth opens slightly as she looks back at her best friend, her eyes leaving him to trail across the loft. The sketchpad, charcoal and spilled attempts at art still linger on the floor.

“Two days,” she repeats as she swallows her tears and takes a deep breath. I nod as I rest my upper body on the counter. 

“I can’t get him to get up for anything other than the bathroom,” I tell her as we both look at Justin. He is up and down, in and out, happy and sad. He is blaming himself. 

“Why don’t you go out? See Michael or something,” she suggests. I look over into her brown eyes and smile. “He’ll be fine,” she says, leaning into me, “I promise.”

I stand up straight, lean over and kiss her firmly on the cheek. “You’re welcome,” she says as I move away, into the bedroom to get my things.

“Daphne’s here. She wants to see you,” I tell him. His left leg moves, smoothing over the duvet and coming to rest again. 

“I told you,” he says dryly, “I don’t want to see anyone.” I walk over to the side of the bed and kiss him, my lips pressing against the corner of his mouth. He doesn’t pull away.  
 __  
“Do you ever listen to anything I say?” He asks as he steps in front of me, his hands hanging at his sides. I look up from my boards, eyebrow raised and waiting.

_“No.”_

_“Okay, just checking,” he says as he walks back over to his computer and sits down. He knows I listen to every word that comes out of his mouth.  
_  
“I know,” I say as I move away. “I heard you.” I walk away from him, the hardest steps I have ever had to make. I hate walking away from him. Daphne is standing next to the door, her arms crossed across her chest, hair in curls.

I kiss her on the cheek and she smiles. “If he needs…”

“He’ll be fine. Just go,” she tells me as she unfolds her arms and slides the door open. I take one last look toward the bedroom and walk out of the door. She closes it quickly before I change my mind and I hear the lock turn. 

I wait before reluctantly moving toward the lift. I step inside and drop the gate.

I lean against the wall of the lift, closing my eyes and enjoying the distance that I am gaining from the loft. I can’t shake the pressure.

**

Justin…

I can hear Daphne as she walks across the floor and up the stairs. She leans onto the frame of the bed and crawls up, stopping at my pillow. She lays her head down, her body facing mine. “Hey,” she says quietly as if someone will hear our secrets.

“What are you doing here? I told Brian I didn’t want to see anyone,” I tell her, staring directly into her eyes. She sighs and moves her legs, just slightly.

“I know,” she whispers, “I got the message.” 

“Then what are you doing here?” She doesn’t answer. She frowns and pulls her bottom lip into her mouth. I hate when she doesn’t answer me. I see her hand move up in front of my face and over my head, before flicking me quickly in the ear.

“Ow. Fuck. Shit, Daphne that hurt. What the hell did you do that for?” I ask and she smiles brightly.

“Doesn’t matter, it’s in the past,” she says softly.  
 __  
“No, not The Lion King, again,” I moan. Daphne looks over at me and smiles, her socked feet slicing through the air as she lies on her stomach in my bed. I flop down next to her just as the opening song is starting.

_“I love The Lion King. It’s the best movie in the whole world.” I scoff and lean my head on her shoulder as she starts to sing._

_“Yeah,” I say, “if you’re six, not nineteen.” She looks over at me and laughs, her lips parting slightly._

_“Dare I say, Peter Pan?” I clamp my hand over her mouth._

_“Shut up, that’s classic,” I defend._

_“In his little green tights,” she adds with a laugh as I start to tickle her.  
_  
“Come on, get up,” she says.

“No, I don’t want to,” I tell her, a pain shooting through my right arm. I stop talking, stop breathing as I close my eyes and wait for the pain to pass. I take a deep breath and open my eyes.

“You okay?” 

“No,” I breathe, locking my eyes on her. She nods her head and moves in close, kissing me on the cheek. 

“You will be. Come on,” she slides off the bed and stands up, hands on her hips, waiting. I don’t try to argue as she pulls me up off the bed, her grip on my arm relentless. “I brought you… a present.”

“What, not food, please not food,” I say. She stops in her tracks, turning to look at me.

“Fuck you asshole, I can cook,” she says as she pushes me down onto one of the stools at the counter.

“Cereal is not cooking.” She shrugs as she walks around the counter and starts to unpack the bag she brought. 

“Chocolate syrup, milk, vanilla ice cream and homemade cookies,” she says as she turns around and picks up the blender.

“Oh God,” I say. I can’t help the smile that spreads over my face as she opens the Tupperware container full of cookies. “Did you make these?”

“No, I called my best friend’s mother and she was happy, having been banned from all contact, to help.” I reach out and grab one of the cookies, breaking it apart. Daphne hands me a plate and we get started.

**

Brian…

“Brian,” Lindsay says as she opens the door and lets me in. “How’s Justin?” She asks as she closes the door. I walk over to the couch and sit down, making sure to avoid landing on Gus’ toys.

“He’s breathing. He’s with Daphne, probably making a mess of the loft, knowing them. Last time it was an attempt at making brownies.” She laughs as she comes to rest on the couch next to me. “Where’s Gus?”

“Out with Melanie,” she tells me. “How are you?”

“Fabulous,” I tell her, sounding anything but convincing. She leans into me, placing her hand on my leg as our eyes meet.

“Beer?” She asks with a nod. I roll my lips inside my mouth and smile. 

“Got anything stronger?” She gives me a small laugh as she stands up, holding onto my hand and pulling me with her into the kitchen. 

**

Justin…

“Brian is going to kill us,” I say as we both look up at the counter from our spot on the kitchen floor. Daphne laughs as she leans back against the cabinets.

“It’d be worth it,” she says as she sucks the last of our childhood concoction through her straw. Chocolate chip cookie shakes, the best. “So, are you going to talk to me?” 

“About?”

“Justin, I know you, okay? Cut the shit,” she says as she plays with the straw, stirring it around in the empty glass. She moves across the floor and scoots into place beside me. “You think it’s your fault?”

I look over at her, forcing the tears in my throat to stay down. “Yeah,” I choke out, clearing my throat. “I just feel like I’m… I don’t know, drowning.”

She listens as I talk, her hands idly pulling at her hair, tears trailing silently down her face. 

**

Brian…

“What’s this?” I ask as I reach across the table, avoiding the two bottles of Vodka. It was all she had, Beam has to wait. Lindsay looks over at the brightly colored flyer in my hand.

I would have used a different font.

“Huh? Oh. That’s a flyer for the Art Explosion. It’s coming up soon. Art students from different colleges and universities compete every year for the top prize. Sydney offered them the gallery this year. You should bring Justin. Get him back into the world of art.”

I stare down at the flyer. “Maybe,” I say.

**

Ronnie Jr. …

My back is against the wall, pressing into the side of my shed. 

I pull my right leg in close to me as I look at the paper in my hand. The headline, ‘Detective Ramirez, Optimistic about outcome of case’, blazes up at me. I open the scissors in my right hand, trapping the paper between the sharp blades as I start to cut.

“I hate cops,” I say into the chilled air.

I let the article fall to the ground, resting comfortably on top of a pile of photos. Photos of victims, newspaper clippings, any and all mention of my activities. I look down at the brightly colored flyer next to the pile. 

Art Explosion. I look forward to it.  
 __  
I crawl off of him, making my way across the studio and over to the kitchen. There’s nothing here, save for some wine and a couple of bottles of water. I turn the water on, as hot as possible.

_I slip my wedding ring from my finger and sit it on the countertop. It was always too big. I plunge my hands into the water, pausing to pump soap into my palm from the bottle next to the sink._

_Surface ablution is illusionary.  
_  
I frown as the sunlight breaks through the window of the shed, dusting my lower have in heat. I let my eyes trace the tan lines on my ring finger. I can’t remember where I put that ring. 

I can’t remember.

Remember.

I can’t.  
 __  
“You should have never taken it off,” Alison says with a sigh as she drops my hand and walks away from me, back into the laundry room. I don’t follow her. I stand in the hallway, watching my reflection in the mirror.

_“I know,” I say._

_“After all,” she says with a laugh, “we did say ‘till death do us part’.”_

_“Indeed.”  
_


	12. Bravery

I have to thank my beta. I love her to pieces.  
Thank you to everyone for reading and being so very patient in waiting for this chapter. I hope you like it.  


* * *

 

 

 

 

“I have all the characteristics of a human being: flesh, blood, skin, hair; but not a single, clear, identifiable emotion, except for greed and disgust. Something horrible is happening inside of me, and I don't know why. My nightly bloodlust has overflowed into my days. I feel lethal, on the verge of frenzy. I think my mask of sanity… is about to slip.”

-Patrick Bateman- “American Psycho”

**

Justin…

Legs crossed, foreheads touching, we wait.

“Your mom misses you. She really wants to see you.”

“Brian called her. He told her I was fine,” I say, my wrist throbbing as it protests the angle at which my arm is resting. I move it.

“It’s not the same, Justin,” Daphne says, her eyes soft and warm as they melt into me. I shift my eyes away from hers and stare down at my ring.

“Nothing ever is,” I say cryptically.  
 __ ****  
Back when I was a child,  
Before life removed all the innocence…  
  
“I got one, I got one,” I yell happily as my feet move swiftly over the muddy bank of the lake, rocks and shells littering the surface. I stop abruptly, standing at my father’s feet, our toes nearly touching as I smile up at him.

_“That’s great buddy,” he say as looks down at me, abandoning his task. “Let’s see it.” I grab his hand and pull him, without effort, toward my spot at the edge of the lake._

_“It’s right over here,” I say, duplicating my own footprints and smearing the originals._

_My father laughs as we reach the edge, full and genuine. I wonder for a brief second what could be causing it when I see my fishing pole, floating five feet from the shore. “My fish,” I say disappointedly._

_“You’ve gotta pull the fish in and pull him off the hook if you want to have anything left to eat,” my father says, the dry remnants of his laughter peppering his words, as he looks out at my pole and then down at me. “At least you caught one. And on your very first trip; took me five times.”_

_I smile proudly as he hugs me close to him._

_“But I lost the fishing pole,” I say as I look out on the lake, the pole bobbing silently in the open water._

_“Well, we’ll just have to go and get it,” my father says as he takes off his clothes, stripping down to his swim trunks. He doesn’t hesitate as he walks towards the water, sinking below the surface._

_I step closer. I never really liked the water._

_“Dad?” I call, as I look down, making sure my feet have not crossed into the clear liquid. I see no movement, hear no sound, not even my own as my feet are pulled from under me and I am dragged into the darkness._

_My head pops up and I gasp for air, clinging tightly to my father’s forearm as we bob in the water, the pole pushed out farther from our movements. His laughter returns, loud and boisterous as he watches me wipe frantically at the water trickling down my face._

_It’s so cold._

_“You okay?” He asks. I nod my head frantically as my feet kick at nothing. “Scared ya, huh?” He asks with a laugh._

_“No,” I say, my teeth chattering as my blood rushes to try and keep me warm. “No,” I repeat, more to hear the sound of words than to answer his question._

_“Let’s get that fishing pole,” he says as he begins to move away, my grip on his arm relentless as I’m pulled along._

_He stops abruptly turning to push me away from him. “This is as good a time as any for you to learn how to swim.” He holds onto my hands as he pushes me away. His grip is tight, safe. “I’m gonna let you go. Just keep kicking.”_

_“Okay,” I stutter as I hold onto him, my chin resting just above the surface of the water. I dare not look down into the darkness below me._

_“Are you ready?”_

_“Yes...s.”_

_“Are you sure?”_

_I nod._

_“Remember, just keep kicking and move your arms,” he says, his eyes locked on mine. “I’ll be here. I’ll always be here. I’m not gonna move. You’ll be okay.” He let go._

_He let go and I wasn’t ready.  
 ****  
Nobody said it was easy  
It's such a shame for us to part  
Nobody said it was easy  
No one ever said it would be this hard  
_  
“You were always the strongest person I knew,” Daphne says to me, her breath warm as it tickles my throat. I take in a deep breath but I say nothing. “You were,” she solidifies.

“Yeah,” I sigh, moving back slightly and looking into her eyes. I rest my arms on my legs and fix my gaze on the details in the hardwood.

“Somehow I find that hard to believe. I can hardly stand the sound of my own breathing. Brian touches me and I want to scrub the spot until I bleed. I don’t think that’s a sign of strength.” She takes in a deep breath, her arms folding around her body as she looks at me.

“Some people wouldn’t have been able to get this far, Justin,” Daphne says sadly as I look back up at her, a hesitant smile dusting her features. “I think that says a lot.”

“What’s worse,” I say, pushing past her words, as I stand up from the floor and face the sink, “is that I’m conscious of everything. I lay awake at night thinking of what he could be doing. I wonder, even though it scares me beyond belief, I wonder. I’m afraid to be afraid and yet… I can’t breathe unless I am.”

She is trying, so hard, to understand. “Justin,” she says hesitating, as she places a cup in the sink, her hands needing to do something. “Maybe you should, you know, talk to….”

I move away from her. “Did Brian tell you when he’d be back?” I ask, pushing the conversation away. She shakes her head slowly from side to side as she starts to wash the dishes.

“No,” she says, “he didn’t. I’m sure he’ll be here….” I nod my head as my right foot reaches the bottom stair.

“I’m gonna lay down for a little while,” I say, cutting her off. I don’t pause as she calls my name. I can’t. I don’t sleep. I lay away, staring at the ceiling and wondering when it would cave in and crush me.

**

Brian…

I slide the loft door open and step into silence. “Brian,” Daphne says bluntly as she comes toward me, worry on her face. “He went in there hours ago,” she says as she motions towards the bedroom.

I can see him on the bed, in the same place, in the same position. I smile at Daphne as I unzip my coat. “He’s been doing that a lot lately,” I say as I toss my coat onto the sofa. “He’ll be fine.”

She looks at me, pleads, for me to be telling the truth. “Are you sure?” She asks as she grabs her things and heads for the door, giving one last glance toward the bedroom.

“He’ll be fine, mom,” I say with a smile as I pull the door open. Daphne hesitates, startled as she stands face to face with two men, the taller one’s hand poised to knock.

“Tell, Justin, I’ll call him later,” she says as she moves past the men and down the stairs, not wanting to pause for the lift. I nod as she disappears around the curve of the stairwell.

“Mr. Kinney,” the shorter man says; his voice clear and precise. “I’m detective….”

“I know who you are,” I say with ease, my voice steady and unmoving. We stand at the door, the line clearly drawn. This is my house, my territory. The atmosphere behind me is swelling in silence, the minutes ticking by.

He concedes to the rules. We play by my terms.

“We’d actually like to speak to you and your husband. If you don’t mind,” detective Ramirez says as he gestures into the loft, aiming at nothing in particular. “Would you mind if we came in for a minute?” He asks.

“Not at all,” I say moving aside and allowing them to enter. “I’m always glad to do my part to help further the efforts of the justice system,” I say as they move past, coming to a stop in the middle of the loft, the eyes taking in every inch.

“I’m happy to hear that,” Ramirez says as his taller partner stays silent. I don’t move. I don’t speak. “We’d like to talk to your husband. Is he around?” I turn away from the detectives, making my way into the kitchen. I grab a glass and a fresh bottle of Beam.

“I thought this was a social call,” I say as I gesture a mock salute and down the burning liquid. “He’s around; doesn’t mean he’ll talk to you. Excuse me detectives,” I say as I steady my nerves and walk toward the bedroom. “Feel free to make yourselves comfortable.”

I know they won’t.

“Justin,” I say as I step into the bedroom. He frowns slightly, his right hand resting on his leg. “Justin.” I reach over and nudge him slightly.

“Go away,” he moans, never opening his eyes.

“The police are here,” I state. His eyes open wide as he scans the bedroom, sitting up quickly.

“Why? What the fuck for?” He asks as he starts to stand, his body moving on pure adrenaline. He gets to his feet with nowhere to go, nowhere to run, hide…escape. I grip his arms and steady his movements.

“They just want to talk to you, Justin. I’ll be right there,” I tell him as I hold onto him. “I’ll be right there.” He closes his eyes and swallows, adjusting further to his wakened state as his mind grips around my words.

He nods, releasing a long breath.

**

Detective Jorge Ramirez…

We stay where we are, waiting for them to emerge from the bedroom.

Josh clears his throat as they appear at the top of the stairs. “Mr. Taylor,” I say as I take a step forward. He braces himself for the movement and smiles. “We were wondering if we could talk to you for a couple of minutes,” I say, easing over the awkward moment.

“Yeah,” he says as he moves toward the sofa. We follow, sitting opposite him. He folds his feet under his body and makes himself as small as possible. I smile sadly at his childlike need to mask his vulnerability. Brian sits down next to him, his long limbs stretching forward as he leans back into the sofa.

“Actually, we think we might have found a lead and we were hoping that you’d be willing to help us,” I say as I look at the both of them. My eyes linger on Brian as he watches me.

The game has new rules, he’s passed the torch.

I shift my eyes back to Justin. “What do you need?” He asks, clearing his throat, his fingers pulling idly on the Velcro strap of his brace. I smile, hopeful, as Josh hands me the manila folder.

“I know you’ve been through a lot, but I need you to look through these pictures of the crime scene and tell me if you notice anything out of the ordinary. Anything misplaced,” I say. I watch him for an indication of whether or not I should proceed. Brian’s arm moves, finding a resting place behind Justin, lending support.

Justin closes his eyes and nods, his fingers pressing down on the thick packet as he takes it from the detective. No words are exchanged, none are needed. We all wait as he takes a deep breath, opens the flap and slides the photos out into his lap.

**

Jordan…  
 __  
“Jordan,” he says reading my name tag. My hand pauses over his carton of orange juice. I look down at my name tag, already knowing what it says.

_I look up at him, embarrassed smile on my face._

_“It’s really Jordianna, but everyone calls me Jordan anyway, so,” I say nervously. He watches me closely, a look of amused calm painted on his face. I smile once more as I turn away and finish ringing his groceries._

_“It’s a very pretty name,” he says as I total his items and hand him the last bag._

_“I never really liked it,” I say as I read him his total and take his money. I shift on my feet, the pressure of standing up all day wearing on me. He leans over the counter and straightens my name tag, halting all of my movements._

_“I think it suits you,” he says as he smiles at me. “Keep the change.” I stare after him as he walks away and out of the store. I look down at my name tag, feeling cold and uneasy. I shake off the feeling as a woman steps in front of me, blocking my path of vision._

_“How are you today young lady?” The older woman asks; her hair graying and dry. I force my eyes from the door and give her my attention._

_“I’m fine, and how are you?”  
_  
Drywall, open and exposed, continuous cloud of dust and debris.

“Hey,” I say as I walk up to Dean, talking animatedly to one of the workers. He stops short when he sees me, a smile spreading over his face.

“Hey babe,” he says kissing me. “Conner was just telling me that the kitchen should be finished by the time I come back from my trip. I press my lips to his once more.

“Mm, that’s good news,” I say as I pull away. “I wish you didn’t have to go.” He holds my hand as he leads me into the house, our house; our _new_ house. God that feels good to say.

“I know,” he says as we step over the many tools that litter the hallway. “But if we want to keep this house, and pay for the renovations, I don’t have a choice.”

“I know,” I tell him. I pull the ponytail holder from my hair and toss my apron onto the kitchen table, my name tag hitting against the wood.

**

Ronnie Jr. …

I stop my car, four houses down, and kill the engine.  
 __  
Seventeen years old…

“Ronnie?” Ryan says scared, his back pressed firmly against the side of the house. I pause, my knife held carefully between my lips. “Ronnie, what are you gonna do with that knife?” He whispers into the darkness.

“Don’t worry about what I’m gonna do. You just do what I tell you to do and stand there, understand?” He nods quickly, sealing his lips. I jump through the kitchen window and stop, listening for any movements, before climbing down off of the sink and making my way across the kitchen floor.

Holly Kelsen lives in this house. She turned me down when I asked her out. Her parents are out of town. “Fuck,” I exhale into the air as my sneaker rests on the bottom step, emitting a loud creak of protest from the stair.

Stilling my heart I press on, my knife held tightly in my right hand. I move up the steps, my mind clear and open. I don’t stop to listen. I don’t stop to prepare. I move only on emotion, pure and pulsating.

I look down at my hands, covering in blood and semen. I pray for the courage to move, but I can’t.  
 **  
“FUCK… FUCK… SHIT!” my father screams. Ryan is on the bed, moaning, crying and bleeding. I want to move. I want to look away. I want to call someone. I want to do all the right things, but I don’t. I stand where I am as my father’s screams fill the house and die out.**

**I can hear the blood as it quickly fills his throat and chokes him, his screams halted by the grip death has on his soul.**

**I stand there. I stand there… with the biggest fucking smile on my face.  
**  
The room seems to expand around me, swallowing me.

I close my eyes, heat pulsating through my veins. “Ronnie?” I hear and the walls snap back into place. “Ronnie, I heard lots of noises,” I hear Ryan say, his voice shaking and distant.

“Go back outside,” I whisper, my voice audible only to me. “Go back outside,” I repeat, loud enough for him to hear me. I pull up my jeans. I don’t remember pulling them down.  
 ****  
“What the fuck makes you think you’re so goddamn special?” My father screams at me, his breath tainted and warm as it washes over my face. I turn my face to the side as he prods his finger into my chest. “You think you’re not like me. You’re exactly like me. You can’t escape the cycle, boy. Just you wait and see.”

His footsteps retreat as the air rushes back into my lungs, metallic and hot, the smell of death.

I never felt more alive.

I watch them walk away, into the house, the door closing behind them. I rip my hand away from my own erection, my cock hard and wanting. I start the engine and pull away from the curb.

Patience is a virtue.

**

What does this guy do?  
He covets.  
How do we first start to covet?  
We covet what we see… everyday.

“The Silence of the Lambs”

 

 

 

* * *

  
“Dance With My Father” by Luther Vandross  
“The Scientist” by Coldplay


	13. Chapter 13

  
Author's notes: This chapter has been a long time coming. I'm sorry. Please forgive me. My beta is on vacation. Blame all mistakes on her. I hope you all like it.  


* * *

  
“You can just feel the details. The bits and pieces you never bothered to put into words. And you can feel these extreme moments... even if you don't want to. You put these together, and you get the feel of a person. Enough to know how much you miss them... and how much you hate the person who took them away.”

-Leonard Shelby, _”MEMENTO”_  


**

Justin…

I asked to keep the pictures, heavy and daunting in my hand, in my memory.

I can still feel the weight of the others in the room. They’re not here anymore. I can taste Brian moving inside my background, pacing, not quite pacing. I swallow. “Tell me a lie.” It’s the first thing out of my mouth. It is pointless and utterly lucent. 

He stops pacing. I take a deep breath, my right arm numb and protesting.  
 _  
Know me._

_I straddle Brian’s legs, my skin molding with his, heated and lethargic. I feel Brian’s hand roam over my skin, his left hand holding a joint to my lips. “You’re high,” he states. I smile as I take a long pull, holding the pungent smoke in my lungs and floating._

_“I am not high. I am simply experiencing a euphoric sense of self.” I smile as Brian scoffs and takes a deep hit. My skin is crawling, tingling and sensitive. I move off of Brian, resting my left leg over his right and smoothing the hair out of my face._

_We sit in silence, completely comfortable._

_“Brian,” I start. “Tell me a lie.”_

_“I hate you.” He doesn’t hesitate to answer, clean, cut and precise. I roll my eyes and cross my arms over my chest._

_“Lie,” I state flatly. He holds the joint inches away from his mouth, the tail of smoke ascending above us. I look over at him. His breathing, his pulse, is steady and even._

_“That’s what you asked for. Your post-coital dialog needs work.” I hate how calm he is when he’s high. I sit up, cross my legs and face him. The loft is dark, the only light streaming from the kitchen._

_“Tell me the truth,” I challenge._

_He takes his time. His answer is weighted. “Nothing is absolute,” he says indifferently as he sits up, presses his lips to mine and walks out of the bedroom. I resist the urge to follow. I sit and wait._

_He comes back with two bottles of water.  
_  
He knows me too well. His walking behind me is making me nervous.

I hear the clanking of glass and lean back into the sofa. I don’t bother to look over at Brian as he takes his place next to me, handing me a glass and filling it with suppression.

The solution is teasing, brown and distilled. I was getting tired of Boost. “Your solution to pain relief,” I say as I look into the glass.

“When I was ten years old I asked my father if he loved me,” he says as he tilts his glass against his lips. My eyes catch his throat as he swallows. My heart skips a beat. 

There are no words, so I don’t try to speak. I stare straight ahead, letting him know I am listening. He repositions his fingers on the glass and pours himself another. I have to ask.  
 __  
Three years old…

_I lean into my mom as she reads, her hands holding the book open. The pages are bright and glossy. “Mommy, turn it mommy.” I pull on the page, peeking at the hidden pictures that I’ve seen so many times before._

_“We have to finish this page first,” she tells me as she kisses the top of my head. I shift in her lap._

_“But, but I want to see,” I pout as my fingers ghost over hers._

_“Okay, okay,” she laughs as she releases her hold on the page. My eyes go wide as she reads the words, words that I’ve heard before. “Not very patient, are we?”  
_  
“And?” He looks over at me and smirks. The presence of the detectives is still heavy in the air around us, slowly dissipating. I asked him to tell me a lie, a clear and spontaneous lie. 

He chose the opposite.

“He told me the truth,” he says to me as his eyes lock on mine, the distant sound of the lift starting to move grinding through the loft. I can feel my eyes start to burn and I don’t know why. I want to walk away from this.

**

Brian…

He smells like soap and water. 

I place the heavy bottle on the coffee table and sit back, my side pressing into his. “I asked for a lie,” he tells me. We both smile, hesitant and sad.

“I wanted one.” 

**

Ronnie Jr. …  
 __  
Seventeen and a half years old…

_I press my fingers together, the filter of my cigarette giving way under my pressure. I bring the worried cigarette to my lips and breathe deep. I gently flick the tip as I drop my hand, casting the ashes to the concrete steps below._

_“Hey Hermit, they didn’t want you, huh?” Kevin asks as he pushes past me, brushing against my shoulder as he walks down the steps. He stops at the bottom and holds onto the railing as he looks out at the street. I don’t answer as I pull the cigarette back to my lips and repeat the motions._

_“Yeah, I heard that the pretty little woman of the house took one look at you and turned you down. Pretty fucked up, sense I hear that ‘father-knows-best’ over there… has himself a taste for little boys.”_

_A slow flick of my wrist and one long pull._

_“I guess it’s really no lost though,” Kevin says as he pulls a cigarette from behind his ear and a lighter from his pocket, “’cause I hear that baby brother of yours, has one tight ass.” He laughs, calculated and deep as he walks away from the railing, trailing past my line of vision._

_I rest my arms on my long legs, my heart slowing down._

_My ears ring as the trunk of the car slams shut. I see my baby brother, not so little anymore, walking toward me. “They say you can call me and visit me whenever you want,” he says as he stands in front of me._

_I look into him, my pulse heavy in my fingers. “I won’t call,” I say, low and even. He looks up at me, his eyes wide and shining._

_“I know,” he says with a small smile, “that’s what I told them.” He looks up at me on the top step and he seems so far away. A tear falls from his eye and he shifts his weight. The sleeves of his jacket are too long._

_I let out a paced stream of smoke as he presses his left foot onto the worn cement. He steps up until he is standing directly in front of me. He steps between my legs, making sure to avoid my lit cigarette, and wraps his arms around my neck._

_He smells like soap and water._

_I curl my arms around him, holding my cigarette away from him as I press him into my memory. I see Kevin in the distance, walking on the opposite side of the street, watching the elementary school kids as they step off of the bus._

_“If you ever need me,” I whisper into his ear, my eyes burning somewhere deep below the surface._

_He nods his head. “I know,” he says as I release my hold on him and gently force him away. My hand trails over his face, wiping away the mucus and tears._

_“Ryan, we have to go,” his new “mother” says from the sidewalk._

_He smiles at me as he turns to walk away. I stand up, taking the steps one by one. I lean against the rail as she waits for him to get in the car before closing the door. I see him wipe his tears with his shirt. She glances at me as she opens her car door, her husband starting the car._

_My emotions vanish as she looks at me. I take another drag as they drive away, leaving only Kevin in my sight. My jaw clenches as I see him offer one of the young girls something. I drop the spent cigarette to the ground._

_“My mom says not to talk to strangers,” I hear the girl say as I cross the street and step up onto the sidewalk._

_“Little young, don’t you think.”_

_“What the fuck do you want?” Kevin asks as he stands up straight. The small girl presses pass him, walking quickly down the street. I feel Kevin’s eyes as they fan over me._

_“What do you think?” Kevin smirks as I cross my arms over my chest._

_**_

_One final slam of his head against the wall and I feel satisfied._

_I slide down the brick wall opposite him, the streetlight pouring shadows into the darkened alley. It got dark so fast. I pull a cigarette from my jeans, blood and dirt staining the white paper as I bring the cigarette to my mouth._

_I stare at the darkening red pool of blood as it slowly seeps into the grains of the brick, pieces of scull and bone fragmented and pressed into the masonry. Kevin’s lifeless body lies across from me, his jeans pulled down around his ankles and his shirt forgotten somewhere beneath him._

_I stretch my legs out and cross them at the ankle, my blood-soaked jeans heavy on my skin. I lick my lips, tasting the splatters of blood that stain my face._

_It smells like rain.  
_  
I blink slowly, my fingers tightening their grip on the steering wheel. I let out the suffocating breath of air that was pooling in my throat. I’ve been out here for hours. The sun has set.

“Dad.” I glance quickly to my left and press the button to roll down the window. “Mom said to come and get you. She said you’ve been out here for a long time,” Michael says as he leans on the car. I see the first few drops of rain fall and I smile up at him.

“I’ll be right there.”

**

Brian…  
 _  
Do you think I would let them harm you?  
No, you would not… danger holds you to me.  
Love holds you to me.  
_  
The paced click of her heels as they cross the floor speeds the beat of my pulse. “Brian. I’m glad you could make it,” she says as she stands next to me, a wine glass half full held high in her hand. 

“Mm,” I mutter, my eyes never leaving Justin as he stands in front of one of the pieces, his fingers nervously ripping the Art Explosion flyer to shreds as he holds on tightly to a glass of wine. 

Lindsay’s eyes follow my gaze, landing on Justin.

“How is he?” She asks in a whisper as she gives an insincere smile and ‘hello’ to one of the guests. I watch Justin startle as a man grazes his arm. I feel a dead heat wash through me as I try to keep myself from closing the distance between us. 

“You’d have to ask him. I, unfortunately, can’t see through walls,” I smile at her. She gives me a look of pity, pushing me gently with her shoulder. 

“Well, at least you got him to leave the loft. How long has it been since he’s done that?” We move to the right, slightly. I keep my eyes on Justin.

“Long enough for him to know that the sun forms a perfectly accurate ninety degree angle on the floor at noon,” I inform her. Lindsay frowns.

“Are you serious?”

I nod my head, taking the glass out of her hand and downing it quickly.  
 __  
I light a cigarette and drop the lighter to the desk.

_I lean to the right as Justin rummages through the desk drawer, my graphs for tomorrows meeting lighting up the screen. He favors his right arm, using it sparingly. He gasps in triumph as he slams the drawer and walks back over to the sofa, dropping to the floor._

_“What the fuck are you doing?” I’m talking to myself. He leans on the floor, between the sofa and the coffee table. I lean back, watching him._

_“The sun,” he mumbles._

_I frown._

_“Everyday, at exactly noon, it forms a perfect right angle on the floor, right here,” he says as he measures the angle again. I look up at his easel across the room, sketchpads and supplies stored on the floor below._

_I pick up the flyer for the Art Explosion, tapping it against the surface of the desk.  
_  
**

Ronnie Jr. …

I stare at the piece of abstract art, glancing around the room as I take a drink from my bottle of water. I see Lindsay, across the room, talking to a tall brunet. I weigh the amount of effort it would take to add him to my collection. 

I force a smile as Lindsay catches my eye. “Ron,” she says as she walks over. I press a kiss to her cheek. “I thought I had missed you.”

“Now Lindsay, you know I would never make an appearance and not say hello to you. How’s the job going?”

“Hard and stressful,” she tells me. “I love it. Your students have some amazing pieces in the exhibit.”

“Yeah, and some… not so amazing,” I say as I look at the piece of art I had been staring at. She hits me in the arm.

**

Justin…  
 __  
“You’re fucking amazing.”  
  
My vision leaves me as his voices floods through me. The painting in front of me is gone, vanished. My grip on the wine glass in my hand intensifies, stressing the glass and causing it to splinter. “Justin.” I hear Brian somewhere, somewhere in the distance.

I can’t stop shaking.

I barely feel the sting as the glass slices into my flesh, blood beading to the surface and dropping to the hardwood floor of the gallery. 

**

Ronnie Jr. …

“I’d love to stay but Alison is waiting for me. We have reservations.” She smiles at me as I kiss her again. 

“Okay. Have fun,” she says as I walk out of the gallery.

**

Brian…

“Justin,” I say as I move in front of him. He is shaking. “Justin, let go of the glass.” He shrugs me off, pushing away from me and taking a step back. I move toward him again, my right arm reaching for his shirt.

“Don’t touch me!” He yells. I grab the front of his shirt and pull him close to me as he fights me. I wrap my arm around his back, my right hand holding onto his left, his blood running down my arm. 

“Bathroom,” I say to Lindsay as she walks up, a scared and confused look on her face. We have caught the attention of most of the people in the gallery. She can’t find her voice as she points me in the right direction.

I push us through the door and into the open space. The tile is bright and unstained. “Fuck off,” I tell the young artist as he stands at the sink. He asks no questions as he shakes his hands and leaves the bathroom.

“I’m sorry,” Justin says in a whisper as tears pool up in his eyes and fall down his cheeks. I lean him against the counter and bring his hand closer to me, pulling his fingers open. “I’m sorry.”

“Well, we all know how you love to be the center of attention.” He takes a labored breath as his body continues to shake. “Fuck sorry,” I tell him as he stares into my chest.

“I heard him.”

“What?” I look at the cuts on his hand. They’re not too bad. 

“He was here. I, I heard him. He was here. I couldn’t see him. I....” 

I want to run out of the bathroom, but Justin grips my shirt and tightens his hold. I push everything out of my mind as I let him rest his forehead on me while I press some paper towels into his hand.

“I want to go home,” he says. I can hear the tears in his throat.

* * *

Lines from, "Interview with the Vampire: The Vampire Chronicles"


	14. Chapter 14

  
Author's notes: Another long wait. So, so sorry. Work and school man, work and school. LOL. Please blame THE MAN. Hope you like it. Much, much love to my beta. She is awesome.  


* * *

  
Yesterday upon the stair  
I met a man who wasn’t there  
He wasn’t there again today  
I wish that man would go away.

Hughes Mearns, _“Antigonish”_  


**

Brian…

Leather seats and the silent ticking of too much time stalled… 

I am afraid to speak. I am afraid to speak and it’s his nightmare.

We stare straight ahead. The ability to move has deserted us. We don’t talk, we don’t move. We don’t have to. One look, one glance in my direction and I might fall apart. “Jus….”

“Don’t. Stay like this, stay just. Like. This.” His voice is flat, toned and pleading. God, I just want to hear his voice.   
_  
No words, the slight hesitation of my feet and his hand on mine. He smiles and stops walking, our presence hidden by brick walls and the upsweeping illumination of filament and life._

_The roof is unclaimed territory, neutral space._

_We stand at the ledge, suspended above the living, the dying... the indifferent. “Do you hear that?” He asks as he looks out at the night, a smile playing on his features. I pull a cigarette from my pocket and light it, the flame straining against the wind._

_The music from the surrounding buildings spreads along the air currents. He shakes his head. I don’t answer. I pull the cigarette from between my lips and pass it to him. He slides his hands into his pockets and hunches his shoulders, refusing._

_“What?” I ask after we have been standing for what feels like decades. I look at the end of my cigarette and flick the eaten embers from the tip. He lets out a slow, shuddered breath as he turns to look at me. He smiles._

_“Silence,” he says as he leans his head back, looks towards the sky and slides his eyes close. “Complete and total silence; there is nothing more worth amplifying.”  
_  
He leans his head against the glass, his arms tight around his shaking body, the effort to suppress the tears choking through his nerves. “Do you still think it’s true?” I press. I can’t meet his eyes and he doesn’t try to meet mine.

This night has gone on for far too long.  
 __  
He shrugs his shoulders and leans into me, our chests bare and pressing. “What is the truth? Why is it so sought after, so important?”

_I thread my fingers through his hair, the sweat-soaked sheets uncomfortable beneath me. “Everything you’re afraid to say, whatever you refuse to acknowledge and the things you need to hear the most,” I answer._

_He sighs, excepting the answer and then challenging. “But why, why is it so important?”_

_The answer is intimate, the setting between him and me.  
_  
Sitting here, enveloped in it, do you still want to hear it, feel it? 

Quiet.

He wraps his arms tighter around his body, trying to fold inside of himself. Beg the seat to swallow him whole. “It’s the only thing I hear,” he answers. A rouge tear trails a path across his skin.

The engine is cooled. My limbs are coming to life.

**

Justin…

I said I wouldn’t cry again.

I don’t wait for his strength. I slide out of the car, off of the leather and into the air. My body doesn’t wait for him to follow. My momentum is linked with his. I climb the stairs. The lift is too closed, too tight, too wanting. I need space and air. 

“Come on old man, you’re not too old to climb the stairs, not yet,” I say weakly, my voice holding onto anything tangible. I refuse to cry but my heart is pumping tears. I reach the landing first and wait in front of the door. I have my own set of keys, my own way inside.

Brian steps into place beside me and slides his key into the lock.  
 __  
“Thanks,” I say as I put the key in the lock, opening the door.

_“I would sure love to see some of your pieces,” he says with all sincerity. A numbing tingle of apprehension flashes through me and then it’s gone._

_I should know better. I do know better.  
_  
“You coming in, or you gonna stand out here all night?” Brian asks. I focus my eyes on his and force myself to smile. He stands to the side and I walk ahead of him, slowly. 

The walls around me seem to swell and relax in the pace of one breath. I turn to Brian, my thoughts tilting on the edge of my vision. I want to tell him so much. I want to reassure him. I want to scream and cry.

I swallow a lump and step into Brian, closer to his smell and lean in, my arms letting go of pride and pretense as they snake their way around his body and under his jacket. I press him into me and start to cry. 

Hot tears, free and uncommitted, pull from me. I hear him close the door.

**

Detective Jorge Ramirez…

I open the refrigerator. I open and close it, gently tapping the pen in my hand against the front.

“You gotta admit,” Josh says as he makes his way across the hardwood floors, trailing his eyes over paintings left unfinished, “the boy is talented.” I nod my head. 

“Yeah, I’ve seen his work before,” I say as my thoughts walk over every inch of the studio, my brain working overtime. Josh continues to talk, his voice providing a distraction to the quiet. He moves around, snapping pictures, re-documenting. 

I don’t want to take a chance. 

“In a gallery in… Chicago, I think,” I add.  
 __  
Ronnie Jr. …

_I crawl off of him, making my way across the studio and over to the kitchen. There's nothing here, save for some wine and a couple of bottles of water. I turn the water on, as hot as possible._

_I slip my wedding ring from my finger and sit it on the countertop. It was always too big. I plunge my hands into the water, pausing to pump soap into my palm from the bottle next to the sink._  
  
My wedding band catches the sun and my head snaps up. My spine stiffens as I slowly turn my body to face the counter, all the air abandoning my lungs. It takes a minute for my eyes to focus, for my fingers to stop trembling and for my body to process my commands to move forward. 

“Son of a bitch,” I whisper. Josh walks up next to me, camera in hand. 

“What?” He asks. “Did you find that needle in the haystack?” He turns his attention to where I am looking, my jaw set and my eyes determined. “Fuck!”

I nod. I nod and I sigh and I smile as he starts to snap pictures. 

“Congratulations,” I say, “we just found probable cause. I want him in our custody before lunch.” Josh doesn’t answer. He is on the radio before I can finish my sentence.

**

Brian…

My skin is heated and welted red where he scratched and clawed, trying to get closer, closer. I sit up and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. I hear him sigh and I turn to look at him before getting up and walking silently to the bathroom.

I flush the toilet and look into the mirror as I wash my hands. “Morning,” he says as I walk out of the bathroom, his eyes are rimmed in red and soaked in old tears. I smile. 

“You okay?” I know the answer already, but it’s customary to ask.

“Yeah,” he says sarcastically, “I’m merry fuckin’ sunshine.” He wipes the sleep and tears from his eyes and struggles to sit up in the bed. 

I walk down the stairs and he follows me, lining up his pills on the counter and taking a drink from the bottle of water that I hand to him. 

This day has just started and it feels too long all ready.

**

Jordan…

I pause at the bottom of the stairs, the glare of the noon sun slicing through the upstairs window and the plastic tarp moving with the wind. My senses focus in all directions, the hair on the back of my neck standing up.

The phone starts to ring as I stare up the stairs. I move down the hall reluctantly, my heart gradually slowing to an even pace. 

I can’t shake this feeling, this nervous feeling that is pressing in on me. “Hello?” I answer as I pick up the phone. 

“Hey babe, I’m in between meetings, just calling to check in.” I hear my husband’s voice and I smile sadly, missing him. 

“Hey,” I say as I pause to listen. I can almost swear I hear something. I’m being paranoid. “I miss you. Any chance you’re coming home early?” 

“I wish I could.”

I nod, I understand. “It’s okay,” I say, “I miss you.”

**

Ronnie Jr. …

I retreat into the empty bedroom, boxes of furniture, unopened and lining the walls. I lean against the wall and wait. I wait for the right time, my blood chilled with anticipation.


	15. Chapter 15

 

 

 

Not knowing how to think   
I scream aloud, begin to sink   
My legs and arms are broken down   
With envy for the solid ground   
I'm reaching for the life within me   
How can one man stop his ending   
I thought of just your face   
Relaxed, and floated into space

“Into the Ocean” by Blue October

Justin…

Thinking about talking takes too much effort and I’m tired already. 

So we shift around each other. He sits and he works and he makes calls to clients. I sketch and I frown and I sketch and I hate everything that flows onto the paper. And the sketchpads fill up faster than they have in the last few months. 

Because what can you say when you don’t know how you want to feel? Are not sure even _if_ feeling is the best thing at all. The pictures are without thought. “I think I want to sale my studio,” I say and I stop drawing and flex my fingers.

“I suspected as much,” Brian says as he stands up and walks into the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of Beam and drinking it just as quickly. I nod my head and exchange one pencil for another.

“I doubt I’ll be going back and someone else could use the space.” Brian walks over to the couch and sits down in front of me.

“Not running away are we sunshine?” I lean forward and drop the sketchpad onto the coffee table, the pencil resting on top.

“Considering the circumstances I think I am completely justified,” I tell him and he doesn’t blink as he looks at me. I stare at him and drop my eyes to his chest, to the couch and out the window. “I’m not ready to go back.”

He nods and he leans back. “What about all your things? What are you going to do with all of it?”

“Burn it, throw it away. Give it to the fucking homeless. I don’t give a shit.” 

“Or,” he says as he takes the cigarette from behind his ear and lights it, “you can put it all in storage.”

“Or I can put it all in storage,” I smile wearily. 

And we sit in silence. He inhales and exhales and I move closer. I lace my fingers through his and he increases the pressure before handing me the cigarette.

“I don’t think the doctor would approve,” I say as I take a deep pull and blow the air out slowly. Brian takes the cigarette from me and smirks.

“I won’t tell if you won’t.” I turn to him and place my left hand in his right and we shake on it.

“Deal.”

**

Jordan…

I feel the draft coming from the window that I know for sure I closed. I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up and my feet cause the floorboards to moan in agony as I step lightly into the darkened spare bedroom.

I don’t have to see the shadow on the floor, or feel the air shift behind me, to know my luck has just run out.

When faced with the prospect of danger your first instinct is to freeze. You don’t run, or scream or gasp. You stand, perfectly still and pray to disappear. __

_“Runners, take your places.” I take one last moment to glance up at the sun. I block out the noise and the cheering. I block out the sweat and the dust. I block it all out and focus on the track, the lines and the curves._

__

_I wait for the signal, the signal to run._

__

“Do you know what is most upsetting about unlawful entry?” He asks me as he stands to his full height, his neck slightly bent and stretching out the kinks. 

I don’t answer him and he stops stretching to glare at me. “You seem like an intelligent woman. Don’t prove me wrong, I’ll ask again. Do you know what is most upsetting about unlawful entry?”

My head shakes slightly of its own accord, beating my lips to their hollow confession, “No, no.” He moves behind me, so confident. My skin is crawling and shaking, wanting to be anywhere else but on my body.

He leans in close and presses his lips against my ear. I flinch and try to move but his hands hold me in place, wrapped tightly around my shoulders and pressing into my flesh. “I think you do,” he tells me.

I shake my head as his fingers roam, trailing down my body and over my breast to unbutton my jeans. “Please,” I whisper. I can’t stop shaking.

“Shhh,” he tells me as he moves around my body, the blade of a knife I didn’t know he had trailing a jagged line across my hip. I start to cry as the blood starts to surface, stinging and cooling as it stains the top of my jeans. 

He smiles at my pain and I see the edge, the edge of something red in his right pocket. 

**

Ronnie Jr. …

“Let’s play a game.” __

_“What kinda game?” She sits on the bed, two hundred dollars of “do what you want” crumpled into her purse._

__

_I smirk and I smile and I press my lips to hers. “Lean back on the bed and close your eyes.”_

__“What kind of game?” She manages to ask and her legs are shaking. I press my palm to her chest and guide her backwards to the bed. __

_Blood, blood everywhere, way too much to drink. I let my orgasm flash through me, my left hand wrapped around my dick and my right hand holding tightly to the handle of the knife, held in place by her flesh and her bone._

__

_One hundred and eighty thread count sheets can soak up two liters of blood and beg you for more. Her fingers are cold and blue, her pupils dilated._

__

_I relax my body on top of hers and glance at her purse on the nightstand. I reach out and twirl the spaghetti strap around my hand, blood and fecal matter on imitation leather._

__

_When a person dies their fluids release. Talk about full of shit. I empty the contents of the purse and pick up the crinkled bills. “Game over. You lose.”_

__

“One I think you’ll like,” I tell her and she gets the courage, the energy, to run. 

I let her and turn to watch her reach the hallway, the stairs. I turn and walk after her, my footsteps fast and fluid. She reaches for the front door and I reach for her hair, slamming my body into hers and pressing her against the door.

“I’m sorry,” she tells me and she doesn’t know why she apologizes. I shake my head as I take in her smell, my dick hardening and pressing into the back of her legs. I shake my head and I pull the crimson scarf from my pocket.

“No,” I whisper and a car passes by, giving her hope and taking it all away. “No, you’re not. But you will be,” I say and I push her to the floor.

I pull the knife from the sheath attached to my belt and plunge it into the hardwood next to her head as I straddle her legs. Telephone cords make excellent restraints. 

So does fear. 

I secure the knot around her neck and wait to hear the choking sound; the sound of life giving in to giving up. 

I thrust my pelvis and she lets out what little air she has. I lean into her and bite down on her bottom lip. And the sound is heaven. __

_Six Years Old…_

__

_I pout and lean my arms on the counter. “Why do I have to say I’m sorry?” I ask and my mother turns to look at me. “She pushed me first.”_

__

_She smiles and smoothes the hair out of my face. She went to the doctor yesterday. She cried until she heard daddy’s car in the driveway._

__

_“Because, you have to be nice to girls,” she tells me. “Boys,” she says as she coughs and breaks open one of her pills, “should be nice to girls.” She wipes a tear from her eye and with shaking fingers releases the contents of the pill into one of daddy’s longnecks._

__

_She hears daddy’s car and she wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “Go outside and play, Ronnie. And take your brother.”_

__

_She sniffs and the front door swings open. “Fucking Jackson and his goddamn bullshit,” My father screams. “Bring me my fucking beer!”_

__

_Daddy doesn’t like crying, so big girls don’t cry. She smiles and brings him his beer, the shell of the pill in her apron pocket._

__

_One night of peace._

__

I don’t bother with condoms and by round three the hardwood is painted red and white and her hands are grasping at air, moving only at the wrists as she struggles to breathe through the blood draining back into her sinuses.

I push myself off of her and roll onto my back, my hands smoothing over my stomach and pressing on the flesh just above my cock. And I take several deep breaths. “You have a really nice house,” I tell her and she makes a noise. I look over at her and pull my fingers through her hair, smoothing it out of her face.

I turn on my side and tap the fingertips of my left hand against her collarbone. “I like your name. I think you should use your whole name. Not shorten it,” I tell her and I wipe the blood off my fingers and onto her tank top, bunched high under her arms and above her breasts.

I cut her arms free and she doesn’t move. I press a kiss to her face and watch as the blood and sweat and tears hold the imprint of my lips. I sit up quickly and she flinches, looking at me through bloodshot eyes.

“You have any food in this house?” I ask and I stand up, cracking my bones and stretching as I walk into the kitchen, pushing aside the plastic from the construction and disappearing from her sight.

**

Detective Jorge Ramirez…

“I don’t understand,” Mrs. Matthews says as she looks down at the papers in her hand and then back up at me. She takes a step back as another set of officers walks through her door.

“This is a warrant, giving us permission to search your house and all property on the grounds,” I tell her and there is ice in my voice. She looks confused and scared as she watches officers search the drawers of her kitchen. 

“I don’t under….” And her words are cut off. 

“There’s a shed in the back. Got a padlock,” Josh says as he waits for me in the threshold of the backdoor. I nod and leave Mrs. Matthews at the front door. __

_“It’s just a locked room, no big deal,” I say as I look at Donald and he smirks._

__

_“Why lock it, if not to protect something?” He asks as we wait for backup. “Logic rookie,” he says and he taps the tip of his finger against the side of his head._

__

**

Brian…

I take the cigarette and hold it between my fingers as the fire heats my skin.

This is fear and this is love and this is the wanting of something more than comfort. He moves and he turns and he faces me. I remember to breathe as he leans forward and presses his lips to mine. 

He takes the cigarette and presses it into the ashtray on the coffee table. I let him take the lead as he stands up and pulls me with him, towards the bedroom. We stand in front of each other and he looks up at me and he smiles nervously. He reaches forward and starts to unbutton my shirt.

He drops the material to the floor and I hear the hitch in his breathing as he touches my skin. 

I try to direct my breathing into my chest so he won’t see how much I want this, how much I want him. He unbuckles my belt and slides it slowly through the loops and drops it to the floor. My jeans are next and he is looking at me.

He touches my stomach and he steps closer to me, pressing his lips to mine and I can feel him shaking. He takes a step back and lifts his shirt over his head. He undoes he jeans and slides them down his legs and pulls them off. 

There is nothing between us and he lowers himself onto the bed, moving into the middle and waiting for me. I lean on the mattress and let my body touch his, his cock pressing into mine and wanting more. I slide my hand along the side of his face and let my mouth find his, my tongue slipping into his mouth.

I feel him start to relax but he doesn’t let go. 

He touches every bit of my skin as I lay on top of him and our cocks are begging for the next step. The sheets are cold and familiar and his skin is pale and shocked and warm. I trail kisses down his cheek and across his hardening nipples and down his stomach. 

He whimpers and I can feel his face as it turns into my hand as it rests on his shoulder. 

My mouth finds his cock and I take it slowly, teasing the head and moving down the shaft in pace with his small thrusts. Seconds and minutes tick by, turning into time well spent. I release him and make my way back up his body.

I lean on him and kiss him deeply. He looks into my eyes and he nods as I reach for the lube and the condoms. He rests his hands on my arm as I rip open the wrapper and slide it on. I pop open the lube and sit up. I gently push his legs open and up and his whole body is shaking. 

I slick my fingers in the cool liquid and gently press one finger against his skin. 

He flinches and he lets out a small noise and I press forward. I lean over him and move another finger into him, slowly moving them, slowly stretching him.

He wills his body to relax and I feel his muscles fight to let go. Several minutes and I remove my fingers and I lean over him again. 

My cock is leaking, pleading and I kiss him. “Are you sure?” He rests his hands on my hips and he nods. I press forward and his nails dig into my skin. I feel his whole body tense and I pause. He lets out a breath and relaxes, slightly. I pull out and push back in slowly.

He presses into my skin, his right hand on my hip and his left on my back. His breath hitches and I feel the tears as they land on my hand below his head. I look at him and tears are streaking steadily from his eyes as I move and I stop.

He grips me tighter, telling me to keep going and he cries. He cries and the sound fills the loft as he whimpers and he screams and he gasps and he lets it all go. 

“It’s okay,” I say and it is the closest I can come to taking it all away. He shakes as my hips thrust forward and his orgasm is ripped from his body along with the tears. I drop over the edge and lean all of my weight on top of him, wrapping my arms around him as best as I can. 

He cries as I slip from his body. He cries and his hands hold me close and his face is covered in tears and mucus and fear and relief and he has never looked worse, or more beautiful. 

“I’m sorry,” he says as he sobs and the sounds of life float back into the loft. “I’m sorry. I let him in and I’m sorry,” he cries and I sit up and pull him forward and hold onto him. 

“It’s not your fault,” I tell him and it is the closest I can get to forgiving him for something that he doesn’t need to be forgiven for. It is the closest I can get to letting myself off the hook. No fault, no blame. __

_“It’s not your fault,” he tells me and he wraps his arms around my neck. “It’s not your fault.”_

__

_But it feels that way. And I carry it with me._

__

“It’s not your fault,” I repeat and he holds me tighter. 

**

Jordan… __

_“You think someone is always going to be there to take care of you? You have to take care of yourself. Now, fight back,” my dad tells me and my brother punches me in the arm. I feel the weight of the boxing gloves on my hands and I look up at him._

__

_“Come on baby, come on,” my brother taunts and he punches me again. I feel the tears well up in my eyes and I turn to my dad who steps into the ring._

__

_“Tears are not going to help. If you want to survive in this world you have to fight back. Him or you,” he tells me and he pushes me back to the center of the ring and he steps outside the ropes._

__

_I turn towards my brother and he swings and I block him. He swings again and my fist connects with the side of his jaw. I swallow the blood as it flows from my lip and I stand up straight._

__

_“That’s right Jordianna, him or you,” my father yells._

__

_“Him… or you.”_

__

“Him,” I whisper and I will my body to move. I press my palms to the hardwood and push with all my might, leaving streaks in the cooling blood on the floor.

I hear him moving around the kitchen and I wipe at the blood trickling down my face. I ignore the blood and fluids trailing down my legs and I move towards the kitchen, peeling my shirt down and scanning the foyer. My eyes land on one of the tools left by the workers and I thank God for construction.

“Nothing but soy and low-fat bullshit,” he says to himself with a shake of his head as he looks in the refrigerator. 

He turns around when he hears me and the smile on his face vanishes with the first swing of the sledgehammer. My arms are weak and shaking but my grip on the handle is firm and relentless and I swing again. 

He stumbles backwards into the stove and knocks the pan of eggs onto the floor. He raises his arms to try and grab the hammer, to try and protect himself. 

I swing and I swing and my anger is blind. 

His blood mixes with mine and all I can feel is warm as it sticks to my skin. Bone and cartilage decorates the unfinished kitchen as his bowels release. 

I swing and my legs give out, tears streaking bloodied pools onto my shirt. I swing and my body slumps to the floor next to his. I move away from what is left of him and reach up on the counter for the cordless phone.

  _ _Him.__

**

Justin…

“Thank you,” I say and I mean for more than the last couple of months. Brian nods and he lets me hold him tighter.

He grabs my shirt and cleans us both off before guiding us to the head of the bed. I rest my head on his pillow and he runs his fingers through my hair. 

We sit in silence. No words are needed and he kisses me and I move closer, tears still cold against my skin. Nothing is between us, nothing exists; only him and me.

 


End file.
